


A Twist of Fate

by WordsCharacterPlot



Series: A New Potion Master [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Rewrite, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Good Regulus Black, He wants to fix that, Logic in the Magical Community is strangely absent, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Regulus Black Lives, Regulus has QUESTIONS, Why are the kids fighting the war?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:28:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21585361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsCharacterPlot/pseuds/WordsCharacterPlot
Summary: Regulus faced death in the cave, accepted his fate, but Kreacher had never been very good at following his orders. In this instance, it saved his life. Now, Regulus must decide where he falls in the war. How much of the war would change with the life of just one man?
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Series: A New Potion Master [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1555705
Comments: 61
Kudos: 411





	1. A Gryffindor Death with a Dash of Slytherin

Regulus Arcturus Black was dying alone in a cave, surrounded by the undead, and if that wasn’t some twisted metaphor for his life, he didn’t know what was. Fire was holding off the Inferi, but barely. His vision was growing dark. Whatever foul things were in that potion, Regulus knew it would be the end of him.

What a Gryffindor way to die. Still, there was something to be said for bravery when it wasn’t precluded by idiocy. He knew this would most likely be a death knell. Part of him that he had buried deep within himself, a part that had lingered on since childhood, hoped that Sirius would be proud of the choice he made in the end. The right choice. 

Defeating Voldemort had little to do with nobility and more to do with the deep seated desire for vengeance, to strike down the man that had the wizarding world enthralled with his lies. And that was a very Slytherin thing to do.

The fire dwindled with his consciousness, clammy hands grabbed at him, darkness pulled him in. 

_ I’m sorry brother. _

The most surprising thing about Regulus waking was in fact the action itself. His eyes opened briefly to harsh light before shutting with a vengeance. If he was dead, would he truly be in so much pain? Perhaps it was penance for all the anguish he contributed in by taking the Mark.

Voices wafted over him, drifting on the edge of familiarity. Where and how were punctuated by images of a lake on fire, inferi clawing and grasping. Before he could manage the valiant effort of opening his eyes again, the void took him once more. 

This happened several times, differentiating by potions poured down his throat and soothing words and hands on his forehead. Until, finally, finally, he was able to keep his eyes open and take stock of his surroundings. 

He quickly wished he was still unconscious. There was no mistaking the beds of the Hogwarts hospital wing. Confirming his suspicions, Albus Dumbledore batted away the privacy curtain with Madame Pomfrey pursing her lips.

“Just because he’s awake for more than two seconds doesn’t mean you can waltz in here and disturb my patient.” The irate mediwitch was a healer first, a concerned citizen second. Any man, woman or child deserved her help, regardless of what side they fell on.

“I am sorry, my dear. But these matters cannot wait with the war.”

His stomach churned unpleasantly, even as the healer pushed a potion into his hands, “Three questions and then you leave him be.”

“As you wish,” he said with a serene smile, then turned to him. He didn’t look like the most powerful wizard in all of Britain. He simply looked tired to Regulus. Tired and old and heartbroken. “Now, Mr. Black, as you can imagine-”

“How’d I get here?” he croaked out. He needed to know a few things before being interrogated by the proclaimed leader of the Light.

“A house elf somehow managed to break through our wards to send you here. He did not remain long enough for us to know why.” Kreacher. At least the house elf was alive. And somehow had enough wits to not bring him home. There were worse places to end up at, namely anywhere Sirius was. That was one family reunion that could wait. Preferably after his death. Unless Dumbledore informed him. He eyed the headmaster. No, he wouldn't have told his brother until he was certain it would benefit him.

“Perhaps you could explain the why?”

His gaze drifted from the bed to the bandage that wrapped around his forearm, as if there was an injury and not a permanent reminder of his mistakes. He did not meet the headmaster’s piercing look, knowing he was a master of Occlumency, something Regulus could fight if he was in better form. How much should he tell? While the Light claimed Albus Dumbledore could do no wrong, he had his doubts. He knew the old wizard’s thirst for power, he knew the mistakes he made that cost lives just as the Dark Lord cost lives.

But he had defected. There were only so many options left. Retreat or fight. 

“I was wrong,” he started, sipping at the pain potion he was given, “Something my brother would relish in hearing, I’m sure. The Dark Lord does not want to rebuild our society into something great, he wants to destroy and burn.”

“And you fought with him?”

He offered a smirk that bordered on a sneer, “Something like that.”

Dumbledore bowed his head for a moment, clearly thinking through his last question, most likely hoping Regulus would have been more forthcoming. Exhaustion and effects of the blasted potion weighed down on him, but he would not faint in this man’s presence.

Finally he smiled, a familiar twinkle in his eye as he asked his third question, “What will you do now?”

Regulus frowned as he thought through his options. He couldn’t return home. His mother would drag him back to the Dark Lord faster than he could blink. Approaching Sirius wasn’t a choice. He loved his brother, despite the rift between them, but he was entirely too brash and light. If he could even fathom taking his Death Eater brother back, Sirius would expect him to join the fight.

And he didn’t want to fight. Didn’t want to die in a war that he wasn’t sure where he stood anymore. 

“Go into hiding,” he finally managed, keeping any details as to what that looked like to himself.

Dumbledore was less than pleased, but did offer a carrot instead of a stick, “If you are interested, my potions professor is due for retirement soon. He could use an apprentice to take over in the next few years. And we could use a man of your abilities and connections, fighting for what’s right.”

There was no disguising his sneer now, “I am not going to be your pet spy, falling into good graces by virtue of your noble character.”

“Of course not,” he nodded, standing and straightening his lilac robes, “But the offer still stands, should you need employment.” 

Albus Dumbledore inclined his head as way of goodbye and left before the stern healer could reprimand him for harassing her patient. Regulus waited until he was certain the old wizard was out of the wing before tossing aside the covers and testing his strength. There was a certain weakness about his knees, but he didn’t pass out at the attempt; he counted that as a win. 

Of course the drated mediwitch caught him.

“What do you think you’re doing, young man?” She demanded, about to force him back into bed. 

“Can’t stay here.” The pain relief potion kept him on his feet, but he knew he had to get to safety before it wore off. Fainting was still a distinct possibility. 

Madame Pomfrey’s fierce gaze softened a touch, “You’re safe here.”

He threw her a doubtful glance. There was relative safety for the majority of people at Hogwarts. But this place was never safe for him. The castle was a reminder of how his family fell apart. This is where it all went wrong. And as a Death Eater who has no qualms about disagreeing with the headmaster, Regulus would only find obligation and manipulation here. He might as well go home for that. 

Seeing his resolution to leave, she sighed and offered a vial, “Take it twice a day until gone. I don’t know how you ended up in the state that you are, but this room is neutral. As long as you don’t hurt my students, you can find healing here.”

He nodded to her, wishing he could simply apparate away like any sensible pureblooded lord would do to make a statement. Instead, he walked out, casting concealment charms before entering the main halls. 

Had it really only been a year since his graduation? It felt like a lifetime. What a foolish child he had been, starved for attention, desperate to prove himself. Perhaps not much had changed in that regard. His childish faith in his elders was gone. His disillusionment of his parents knowing best, that the Dark Lord wanted to make the world better, that somehow the Light were the ones forcing the war.

He stopped at the lake, just inside the boundary line, debating on which house to hole up in. He could not go to Grimmauld Place, which would be a return to slavery. Finding Sirius was out of the question, even if he somehow believed his change of mind. There were numerous Black holdings, but it would be risky. His grandfather, Arcturus Black, would certainly feel the wards admit him in as head of house. While he had yet to declare a side, he certainly hadn’t stopped his family from following the mass-murdering nutcase. 

He let out a huff in annoyance, then stepped out of the wards and apparated before he spent all night in the cold. 


	2. Testing Fate

Regulus didn’t have time to do much when he arrived at the Moor Estate. The pain potion could help a lot of things, but he still nearly died a few days ago. Beyond making sure he wasn’t followed or noticed, he made his way to the nearest bedroom and crashed.

The Moor Estate was a seldom used property that was in the far-reaching hills of Scotland. Due to its location and size, a mere five bedroom house, it was often empty. House elves maintained the grounds and furnishings or it was put in stasis until useful to banish a self-righteous heir or for a clandestine meeting.

For Regulus, it was perfectly located away from the fighting, while still close enough to keep tabs on the war. The nearest town was several miles away and no neighbors bordered the property. He could recover and plan in peace.

Which was good considering it took him another three days to get back on his feet.

Tippy, the head house elf, ensured he drank his potion and stuffed food down his throat at every opportunity, snarling when Regulus so much as thought of straining himself. But the problem with forced bedrest is that it left too much time to think.

And plot.

And mourn.

So when he was finally allowed to do things, he went first to the library. It was much smaller than the one at Black Manor, but it would suffice for his needs. His first order of business was removing the bloody brand from his skin. It wouldn’t be easy and he could die, but he was already living off borrowed time. He should have died in that cave.

Which reminded him.

“Kreacher!” he called. The fact that his mother had not broken down the door during his recovery meant he had yet to be discovered. Either grandfather was too busy to notice or simply did not care.

With a pop, the house elf was at his feet and sobbing, “Master Regulus, we thought yous dead! Mistress is so distraught. Kreacher couldn’t tell her, no.”

“Easy now,” he said, crouching down to his level, “I’m alright, but you mustn’t tell mother about me. Telling her means I will die.”

The house elf looked at him with watery eyes and bobbed his head, “Kreacher will keep his master’s secrets, even from his mistress.” he wrung his hands, “Master Regulus must know. Kreacher could not destroy the locket. Kreacher could not do as master asked. Kreacher is a bad elf!”

“Bring it here then,” he sighed, mentally adding it to his to-do list, “I’ll take care of it.”

There was the slightest hesitation before he popped out and returned with the locket. Almost instantly the atmosphere turned sick, twisted, the dark object tinging the very air it occupied. Regulus was prepared though. He brought out a small chest and had Kreacher place it inside. Relief was instant. He would need to research how to destroy it later.

“Thank you Kreacher. You saved my life.”

The house elf wrung his hands again, drawing attention to how battered and bandaged they were, “Master said to run. Master wanted me to leave. I disobeyed master.”

Regulus sighed and gently took his hands, starting healing spells, “You saved my life. You are not to punish yourself for that. I am grateful.”

He was getting teary eyes again, but nodded dutifully. “Poor mistress is all alone. Would Master Regulus return now that he is well?”

“No,” he said vehemently. He was not returning to that house until he was well aware of all the moving pieces in this war. He would not return while his mother lived to torture him into obeying, “I will remain here. Only come here when I call and it does not bring suspicion to mother.”

The house elf nodded again and was gone with a snap, leaving Regulus alone with his thoughts.

While Grimmauld Place could hardly be considered lively, there was at least the possibility of human interaction. In the month he spent recovering and studying and learning all he could, Regulus found the lack of conversation wearing on him. 

So, as 1979 drew to a close, in the wee hours of the morning, he welcomed the break in to the manor.

Well, mostly.

The wards waking him up at 2 am was less than ideal, but he prided himself in how quickly he was ready, wand out, for the intrusion. A low curse emanated from the kitchen and he followed the noise, casting a spell to silence any noise he might make. 

He wasn’t taking chances. No one was dragging him back to his master or his mother. With a deep breath, he rushed into the kitchen and shot off a stunning spell. In the flash of red, he noticed the intruder was a girl about his age, stuffing her face with food. With a yelp, she ducked behind a table, somehow deflecting the spell.

“Bloody hell, don’t hex me!”

“You’re breaking and entering, why shouldn’t I?” he snarled, not lowering his wand. She peeked over the table.

“Thought it was an empty house?” Her accent was strong and Irish. As Regulus took a breath to calm down, realizing this wasn’t about him but a beggar, he noticed more about her. She was tall, with dark brown hair and startling blue eyes framed by dark circles. And thin, too thin. She hesitantly stood as he lowered his wand and he took note that while she was clearly magical, she had no wand on her. “Nobody ever lives here.”

“How often have you broken in?” He raised an eyebrow. The wards should have prevented people stealing. Perhaps Tippy allowed her entry. Given the house elf’s recalcitrant attitude, he doubted it.

“Just once. Nearly singed by the wards.” Curiosity overtook her and she tilted her head, taking a large bite of the sandwich she stole, “How come you don’t register in the wards? House shoulda been empty.”

That was an interesting tidbit. Not only that he was apparently hidden, something only his grandfather could do as Head of the House, but that she could see that. Magical, powerfully magical, but he knew most in his year at Hogwarts and a good portion of those younger. She was not in his memory. Homeschooled then, not wholly uncommon, especially for older lines. His mother nearly homeschooled him.

Homeschooled and starving. He didn’t miss the signs. Knew them as well as his own childhood. She sat at the table as if she belonged and grinned as Tippy glared, offering a plate of food, “Thanks old chap! I’m Hannah by the way. Sorry for, you know, breaking in.”

She was clearly unrepentant, but he found himself drawn to her. Blaming the long solitude, he sat across from her, thanking Tippy as she got him tea, “You broke in for food?”

“Well, food’s a bonus. Got cold.” She shrugged as if it were no big thing. 

“Where do you live?” If this was the second time she had broken in, it had to be close. Her accent was not local though.

“Don’t matter.” Yes, definitely abused, definitely on the run. He knew the hunched shoulders and guarded eyes as if he were staring into a mirror. 

With an annoyed sigh, he said, “I’m Regulus. And I can offer temporary sanctuary if you can convince me it’s worth my while.”

Her atrocious manners continued as she barely paused in her consumption of food, “Regulus is a dumb name. And I’m heading south, don’t need charity.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he briefly wondered if this was how Sirius felt in the last years they spoke. Merlin he was such a brat. “I would recommend not breaking into houses in England. Hanging out in the shadows during war is a sure way of getting killed.”

He stood and waved his wand, the tea and crumbs she was leaving behind vanishing. His hand twitched to curse her, to tie her up and dump her off at the nearest orphanage. She watched his wand movements in amazement and he wondered where her wand was again. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t his problem.

“War?”

“Have you been living in a bog the past few years?” he asked incredulously. Even then, surely news of the supposed Dark Lord would have reached the farthest alcove. 

“Close enough,” she muttered, then frowned, “I got family down south, but haven’t been in touch.”

“Owl them.” She blinked at him and he sneered. How backwoods was this girl? “Send a letter. Might want to make sure they’re actually alive before visiting.”

Something passed over her but she shook it off, the stupid grin back in place. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

His eyes narrowed at her, but let it go. He walked away, determined to ignore the mystery of Hannah. He paused on his way to his room and huffed. Ordering Tippy to make a bed for her, Regulus sank into his room under strong protection spells and questions swirling in his mind.

Hannah was gone in the morning when he woke. Tippy complained that the ‘waif walked out like she own the place’ as soon as dawn broke. He didn’t expect her to linger and so he pushed aside the encounter as odd but harmless. Even beneficial in some aspects.

With her intrusion, he examined the wards more closely. He was not Head of the House, nor even heir, despite his mother’s insistence when Sirius ran away, which meant he had limited access. He could only get the barest of glimpse, but sure enough, his magical signature was being hidden.

No one knew why Arcturus refused to remove Sirius. He had never shown vocal support to Voldemort, but neither did he condone. Regulus had pushed it off as grandfather getting old and lazy. Why bother get involved when he was likely to die soon anyway? Now, things were not adding up. He had to have taken an active role in covering his grandson’s tracks. 

And the other thing he had pushed aside. Kreacher had thought him dead. That shouldn’t have been possible. The family tapestry was woven with such ancient magic to proclaim all in the line and when they died. No one could tamper with that. All they needed to do was look at the tapestry and know he was alive and hiding.

But perhaps the Head of House could have a way of concealing it. He would be the only one able to do such a thing.

But to what end?

What game, what plot was his grandfather playing with? He knew as deep as his bones that his grandfather would never side with Dumbledore. While not inherently evil, Arcturus Black was by no means a man of the Light. The two aged men were polar opposites. At this time, the only other side was the one Regulus fell into and now rejected. There was no third faction to join. None that had enough strength to stand tall.

Unless a powerful pureblooded lord offered that third option.

Regulus sank into an armchair and waved aside the worried house elf. This bore measured thinking. He had been at a dilemma waking in Hogwarts, only having two options presented. Fight for the Light, most likely spying and then dying in the process, or return home and to his bad decisions, awaiting the death he escaped in the cave. He chose to hide, to leave, to preserve what little dignity he still had.

But rattling around the house had dangerous consequences of its own. Regulus was getting restless. He sat down and provided shelter to a common thief by Merlin’s beard. He ran a hand over his face in embarrassment. No. Self-imposed exile, even for his own safety, would not last. He needed a third option. He needed to reach out to his grandfather.

Reaching for parchment and quill, he carefully penned the letter. If he was right, no problem. If he was wrong, he’d be ready to flee.

_ The scion of the Ancient and Noble House of Black humbly presents himself to his Head of House for actions against the house. _

“Tippy!” The house elf popped in, eyeing the letter suspiciously, “Deliver this to grandfather. Ensure no one else sees you or reads this note.”

She glared at him, but took the letter harshly and disappeared. Regulus gripped his wand and took a breath. Here goes nothing.

Tippy returned with a frown, “Master shall come at earliest time. Young master should make himself presentable.”

Of course he wouldn’t give a time. Still, Regulus straightened his clothes and said a charm to make his hair somewhat presentable. He had been here a month and while he wasn’t the starving twig when he first returned, the effects of the lake and Inferi left their mark. He still had the look of near death about him. He resisted the urge to do a glamour charm, one learned from an early age, that would hide bruising and the unhealthy pallor. No, he would meet his grandfather as he was, a testimony of Black stubbornness and pride.

The fireplace chimed. Time to see if he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated whether or not to include an OC. In the end, Hannah refused to leave me alone and here she is. Hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	3. War Rages On

“Grandfather,” Regulus said, bowing his head as he entered the receiving room. Despite his age, Arcturus still sported raven black hair and a strong pose. Regulus kept his hands behind him, wand hidden. 

He did not squirm as the Head of House scrutinized him, eyes lingering on the dark circles and thin frame. He nodded in return, “Have you lost manners in death not to offer a better place for conversation?”

With a wince, he waved to the door, “Perhaps the library. Not nearly as grand as the Black Estate but...serviceable.”

They walked there in silence, Tippy offering refreshments before winking out. His grandfather settled in a chair with a glass of firewhiskey, putting his cane aside. He took a sip, then set it aside, “I am here at your request Regulus. That means you dictate the outcome of this meeting.”

That startled him out of his stupor. Had he….He just offered control to him. That was ...unexpected. “I see. Thank you grandfather. To put it simply, I requested your presence to dole out punishment to actions I led against the house the past few… years.”

Arcturus inclined his head for him to continue, but offered no other encouragement, “It has come to my realization that I was misguided in what our motto meant. Toujours Pur. Always Pure. Always pureblooded, I believed. I fell into the belief that the circumstances of my birth elevated me above the rest. It did, but perhaps not in the way I once thought.”

His mind scrambled to find the solution he had been wrestling with since discovering Voldemort’s true purpose and origins. He was pureblooded. He came from a wealthy and renowned house. Those were not trifles. But death and destruction and fire were not the answers he sought anymore. 

“And what do you believe it means now?” He asked when the silence stretched between them. 

“Pure to magic,” however that looked, “Pure to the house. And I disregarded this by bowing to another, by sharing secrets of the House and pledging my life to one lesser than I.”

“To this so called ‘Dark Lord’?” Relief spread through Regulus. His grandfather did not support Voldemort. Otherwise, he would already be dead.

“He holds no title. And he would kill those of better birth along with traitors and common blood just as well. Even worse, he has the means to do so while the world tears itself apart.”

Turning the ring on his finger, Arcturus kept his gaze on his grandson as he thought. Regulus knew that by laying out the transgressions, he was opening himself up for punishment. His mother was fond of unforgivables to bestow her wrath. He wasn’t sure how far that insanity ran in the family. He wasn’t sure how much he’d hold up against Crucio right now.

“What would you do now?” he finally asked, raising a solemn eyebrow, “I have hidden you away as you have suspected. Allowed you to heal. What is the path you choose now? Will you return to your master or find another to serve under?”

Dumbledore or Voldemort. Light or Dark. Regulus knew that he did not fall under either category. The House of Black was historically dark, with Sirius being the first Light in centuries. That wasn’t his path. He took a deep breath, “I would fall at my feet at my Head of House and hope to bring the House to neutral territory.”

“A third option in the war.”

“Yes.”

“And who would lead this outlying faction?”

Regulus gulped. Would he dare ask his grandfather to take a stand, to fight against abhorrent evil and manipulative greater good? He shook his head. He was thinking about this the wrong way, “I don’t think we need a proclaimed leader. Rather, work in the shadows, rally support from both sides, from people tired of war, offer them another choice.”

“You want to fight?”

He shrugged. Could you make it through war without fighting? He made his choice when he went to the lake with Inferi, “I want to live.”

Suddenly Arcturus stood, something akin to pride shining through his eyes, “Well put. For now, you need to recover. I expect the story of how you came here eventually, but not today. We’ll work out the details later.”

Regulus stood, unsteady by the support. He hadn’t had support since Sirius left for Hogwarts. “Thank you grandfather.”

“Would my heir join us?”

He did his best to hide the sneer, to fight back the bitter taste in his mouth, “Sirius is devoted to the Light. I don’t think he could be swayed.”

Nodding in acknowledgment, Arcturus went back to the floo, “I’ll send my healer in a few days. I don’t want you leaving the house just yet.”

He suddenly stopped in the hall, Regulus nearly bowling over him, “Grandfather?”

He turned towards him, regret and pain etching his features, “You have been out of contact for many months. I had forgotten you would not have been informed.”

“Informed of what?” A thousand scenarios raced through his head, each one listing another family member in death. A hand found his shoulder and did not comfort.

“Shortly after your parents were told of your death, your father succumbed to illness. He passed on two weeks ago.”

Regulus blinked, unsure how to feel. His father’s health had always been frail. At Sirius’ defection, he was bedridden for months. It was only a matter of time before his weak heart gave out. A twinge of regret fluttered through him, “Thank you for telling me.”

Something like understanding showed through the haze of shock. Arcturus did not let go of him, “There are many things I regret in this life. You and Sirius are not among them.”

And then he was gone. Regulus was back to an empty house and full mind. He paced the library, picking up books on branding and spell work only to have the words swarm and mix before his eyes. He slammed them shut and continued to pace. This became a cycle until Tippy dragged him to bed, dosing him with a sleeping potion.

Regulus fell into a pattern after his talk with his grandfather. In the mornings, he would bury himself in the library, scouring dark materials for anything and everything of use. He researched horcruxes and black marks and curses. He would mark anything that would be used against them. And then, worked on counterspells and antidotes. While many of the books offered no solutions, Regulus was a bright student. With enough knowledge of basics, he could work backwards. Once perfected, he would send the solutions to his grandfather, to ensure they would get in the right hands.

At least once a week, he would have lunch or dinner with his grandfather. They would discuss politics and alliances. It was slow work. War made people cautious. But there was enough interest in another choice that they made hesitant progress. It also helped to hear what was happening in the outside world. To know that his brother lived another day, week, month. 

After lunch, and after he had been cleared by a healer, Regulus poured himself into dueling and spell work. This is where the most frustration lay. He did not have the strength and stamina anymore. Whatever that foul potion held it had left him damaged and weak. He devoted hours to running, to drills, only to find himself spent in his bed. Pushing himself too hard and he would not be able to move for days. This helped him from getting stir crazy and made the war become a distant reality, only brought by news from his grandfather. 

“Your brother is at St. Mungo’s,” His grandfather greeted him as he stepped through the floo. Regulus twitched.

“What?”

“I’ve just come from there, discussing the situation with Charlus Potter. He’s stable, but a raid went wrong. Sirius, I’m sure you can only imagine, got reckless.” This wasn’t right. Sirius was supposed to stay safe. They may never reconcile, but they couldn’t be forever separated. The room tunneled in his vision until a hand found his arm, anchoring him to reality. War came crashing through regardless of the safety Regulus had found.

“St. Mungo’s?” he asked, hating how weak he sounded. He tried to recall the last fight they had, the one that ended with both of them in the hospital wing. He tried hanging onto the anger he felt at his brother getting sorted into Gryffindor. Anything but the pain that was clawing through him now.

“Stable at the moment.” There was a pause. Here was where his grandfather told him that he was horribly maimed, permanently disfigured. Served the sot right for strutting around Hogwarts like a peacock. “I can take you to see him.”

Breath left his lungs in a whoosh and the Slytherin prodigy of the Black House slumped against the wall behind him. For once, he didn’t think, he just reacted, “Yes.”

Under three disillusionment charms and four potions, Regulus stepped out of the house for the first time in months. He walked slightly behind his grandfather as they marched through the hospital, only stopping as they came to Charlus, standing as a guardian in the otherwise empty hall. 

Regulus had only seen glimpses of Charlus from his time at Hogwarts. Most days, he blamed the old man as surely as he blamed his son for Sirius going astray. It was the Potters’ fault for taking his brother. The Potters’ fault he was left alone. 

But seeing him now, with love and affection practically drooling off him, even as he stooped over a cane, Regulus knew exactly why Sirius latched on so easily. Here was a man that was everything their parents weren’t. Kind, generous, soft. Someone who would embrace every lonely child in the world. Here was a man standing guard over his brother’s room with every right as a father.

“Arcturus.” He nodded in greeting, “You won’t have long, I’ve sent James and Lily out. Lily really shouldn’t be out so late in her pregnancy.”

“I’ll keep you company out here.” Arcturus nodded to Regulus and he slunk inside, ignoring the quips the old men shared. 

He stopped short once inside. His haughty, arrogant, ridiculous brother looked worse than he did after fighting Inferi. Cuts, bruises, burns, all covered by bandages when possible, seemed to mar every inch of his skin. His pride and joy, his hair, was lopsided by burns. A thousand different monitoring charms told him just how bad it was. Sirius’ chest was barely rising. 

Regulus slumped in the chair by the bed, shedding disillusionment charms. “What am I even doing here?”

This was risky and pointless. What was he hoping for? A happy reunion? Closure? Even if Sirius had been awake, the likelihood of being happy to see him was negligible. Sirius believed him dead. And if not dead, an enemy. Still, he was here and suddenly words were pouring out from him. Words he kept locked away for so many years.

“The sorting hat asked me where I wanted to go. I had a choice. Gryffindor was a possibility. Said I had courage, just needed the right push. And I couldn’t do it. I saw you tear the family apart with your sorting. I saw the hatred and pain in your eyes when you came home. I wanted things to return how they were.” He ran his hands through his hair. He was such a foolish and naive child, greedily devouring the whims of Voldemort. He wanted a better world. He still did. 

“Going to Gryffindor was a death knell for me. I knew you’d be proud. Merlin, it would have been great to go back as brothers. But you swore. You swore Hogwarts wouldn’t change us. I still believed you.”

And it drove them apart. Regulus wasn’t sure what would have happened if he had gone to Gryffindor. Father would have had a heart attack. Mother would have learned how to send Crucio through the mail no doubt. He would have been dragged kicking and screaming to the Dark. So he walked into it willingly, blindly. Sirius made his choice his first year of Hogwarts and Regulus did the same. 

“There were days I could have killed Potter for stealing you. He took you away from me. He claimed you as brother as you kicked me to the curb. I blamed him and pushed you away. I’m sorry Sirius.” He pulled at his hair, wishing he would wake up, wishing he hadn’t come here. With one more glance, he stood and left the room. Charlus’ eyes grew wide, but said nothing as he handed him a slip of paper.

“Might be some counter charms and potions to help with the curses.” He said, taking his stance with Arcturus, keeping his gaze down. “I’ll be returning home.”

His grandfather nodded, taking a step to go with him, before Charlus spoke, “Young man. I won’t pretend to understand what’s going on, but I do know one thing: There’s not a day that goes by that Sirius doesn’t regret saving you.”

He lifted his head and met his gaze, “It was never his job in the first place.”

Not waiting for a reply, Regulus swept out with every ounce of grace that he could muster. Unaware of just how much of a pureblooded lord he looked in that moment. All he cared about was getting away from pitying gazes. He passed by Sirius’ friends, the wolf and the brother replacement and did his best to hide his face. 

In one more spurt of Gryffindor idiocy, he passed by Potter and let out a whisper, “Take care of him. Or you’ll join him.”

They both stiffened but Regulus was gone, leaving the two raving and searching. He slipped into his room and fell onto the bed in utter exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know canon has Fleamont and Euphemia as James' parents, but I like Charlus and Dorea better. Let me know what you think!


	4. Joining the Dead

Summer came late to the highlands of Scotland. Regulus kept busy. Seeing his brother helpless in a hospital bed ignited a fire he did not know he was capable of. He was no longer content with lingering in the house as the war waged. His grandfather exhausted every reason to be cautious and he did his best, but no longer would he remain in the confines of the house. 

One of his first excursions was to place a monitoring charm on Sirius. Nothing major. Just a small, undetectable charm to ensure he was alerted if he was in danger. Next time his brother did something truly idiotic, Regulus would be there to wring his neck himself. 

He also placed charms on the Potters. While the resentment and bitterness were his closest companions of late, there was no desire for their life to end too abruptly. And his reasoning was that anytime Potter landed in trouble, Sirius would be soon to follow.

He also had regular outings on Tuesday to see a mind healer under disguise. It was a thought he had in passing, one solidified by research. Even Muggles had their version of mind healing. He went out of his way to find a mind healer that had background in both worlds, located on the continent. He wasn’t shelling out galleons for a healer to not understand both sides of the war. These sessions lasted an hour and contained the most abhorrent activity: talking. Talking about himself specifically. Each session left him feeling scrubbed raw and vulnerable.

But they helped. It helped speaking to someone about his mother who didn’t have the context. It helped airing out things he kept close to his chest. It helped to work through the trauma that led to decisions that nearly cost him his life. 

It was by no means a cure to the torture that was his childhood, but a step in the right direction.

It was Wednesday currently, which meant research. He had five books open to various potions and spells and a cauldron simmering in the corner. He had finished the last stir when the wards pinged him of an intruder. An intruder with a very familiar signature.

Curious, he set a timer on his cauldron and strode to the front door. Sure enough, the girl from before, Hannah, was looking around in awe.

“Looks grander in the daylight,” she said with a low whistle, getting close to a gilt frame. “Very stuffy.”

“Thought you were going south?” Why in the world would she come back? 

“Got caught, dragged back. At least I got a neighbor this time.” She grinned at him. The circles under her eyes seemed deeper. She held herself defensively. 

“Why don’t you go visit them then?” he drawled, unwilling to kick her out. The company would be nice. And despite his best efforts, he was curious about this girl.

“You’re a hoot Reggie. You gonna be a polite and offer me some tea?”

He flinched at the nickname, resisting the urge to boot her out. Instead, he gave his most sarcastic smile and held out his arm, “Might I have the last name of the lady? A proper host should announce their guests to the house.”

There was a momentary stunned silence as he played her game, then she lifted her chin in amusement and challenge, “Sayre. Hannah Sayre.”

The name seemed familiar but he pushed it aside for now. He could peruse the old genealogies later. He stood tall as she took his arm and led her to the formal dining room. Despite the house being empty save a house elf, he went through the formalities drilled into him at a young age. “Let the House of Black welcome Lady Hannah Sayre, unwelcome guest and rude interloper.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and slouched into a seat, “I guess that works.”

He rolled his eyes and waved his wand to bring out tea and snacks, ensuring nutrient potions were in both their drinks. Hannah was definitely too thin. She watched him with childish fascination and he frowned, “What?”

“I haven’t been around many wand users. Isn’t it, you know, limiting?” She stuffed her face with a scone, proving her crude upbringing. He was raised better and settled a  serviette in his lap.

“You don’t have a wand?” He asked incredulously. While he had not seen a wand on her, Regulus had assumed she kept it hidden.

“Why would I need one?”

That earned a frown as he attempted to wrap his mind around her stance. Either she was remarkably advanced, a prodigy, or hopelessly naive and sheltered. He suspected the latter. “To perform magic. Wandless magic requires not only mental strength and stamina but precise skill.”

She shrugged, unperturbed at her faults thrown at her face. Perhaps she did not see them as faults, “Sure, if you’ve been taught to push magic through a stick instead of learning to meditate. Wands are just a mechanism to force others down to a level playing field.”

His frown deepened at her speech. It sounded rehearsed, taught from an early age. The expected response from a childhood of abuse. Perhaps it was his own upbringing and recent mind healing sessions that made it so clear to him. Nevertheless, he chewed over the merits of teaching young children meditation and control over their magic. It would undoubtedly lessen accidental magic and make them more aware of their skill. It could potentially increase their power and make them more skillful, but they would have to use a wand eventually. 

“I disagree,” he finally spoke, startling Hannah from her own thoughts.

“Well, sure, that’s all you know.”

“And wandless magic is all you know,” he shot back. A mulish look overtook her features, but did not hide the hunger in her eyes for knowledge. She was curious, more than just why, but how. Regulus doubted she had an opportunity before today to ask questions, “I don’t argue that you might have more power at your command, but you would certainly lack the finesse for skilled charms and spells.”

“Magic is intent based,” she readily debated, “Words and fancy waving is simply an avenue to translate that intent. I can do whatever spell you can do without a sound because I have better control over my mind and magic.”

He shook his head, having already explored that avenue, “Intent, yes, but not sentient. Spells that require intricate or delicate work would be limited by your knowledge. Merlin, don’t even get me started on rune work. Without a wand, you could get by and overpower anything you want, but you couldn’t do anything that actually requires skill. It’s rudimentary at best and barbaric at worst.”

He had been so caught up in the wild possibility and theory of it all, he forgot he was not discussing this with someone who shared his background and schooling. He was snapped from his thoughts by plates slamming on the table. Hannah was pale and withdrawn, hurt. “On second thought, being home doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Hannah wait!”

She was already stalking out of the house as he scrambled from the table. A wave of pure magic blasted into him and knocked him back in the chair. By the time he managed to chase after her, she was gone.

A ding went off through the house, alerting him of the potion needing its next ingredient. He scanned the forest around the house for Hannah then huffed, returning to the library. He was grateful for the precise work of potions. It required him to focus on something tangible without requiring much power. He had yet to regain the level of power he enjoyed prior to drinking that blasted potion. Nor could he figure out what exactly the potion was.

His potion, however, was set to simmer for several hours so Regulus settled back into his arm chair, surrounded by open books. He had been researching a way to remove the Dark Mark with limited success. Tossing those books aside, he pulled the old genealogies in front of him.

He had long suspected that Voldemort had been using an alias to cover a less than stellar background. The name did not belong to anyone in the recent centuries. Instead, he searched Hogwarts students, specifically Slytherin graduates. He had it narrowed down to three names. But instead of resuming the search, he scoured for the name Sayre. Irish roots, definitely, homeschooled, old family.

There.

It was a pureblood line, going back as far as the founders where the book no longer recorded. He found Hannah easily. The only girl of Ivor Sayre and Eileen Fawley. The families had various distant relations to both Slytherin through a Gaunt line and Ravenclaw through Fawley. While a few outlying people attended Hogwarts, it was clear this family chose to remain in the shadows, despite having such a rich history. There was even a tie to the founder of Illvermorny, the American school of Magic.

HIs fingers drummed the page, questions brimming to the surface like a well attended cauldron. Questions he could not answer through books and research. With a reluctant sigh, he returned to finding secrets his once master served to hide.

And what a treasure trove he found. 

Lord Voldemort, heir to Slytherin, was the son of a muggle. A muggle that dumped him at an orphanage and never looked back. And his mother was little better than a squib. She never attended Hogwarts either. From the Gaunt line. A shudder ran through him at the thought of the girl that kept sneaking into his house suffering the same fate. 

Before he could dive deeper into those bleak thoughts, the monitor he set on his potion went off. He stood and checked it against the book he was working off. It was a pearly blue color, exactly as it should be. 

“Here goes nothing,” he muttered, bottling some of the brew. The book stated it could remove any dark residue. One simply had to apply it physically and ingest the nasty stuff. If it worked, the mark should fade to nothing. If it didn’t, Regulus could be bargaining his life.

He rubbed some on the blasted mark and downed the potion just as the door opened. Not that he noticed. He was too busy passing out.

Waking was not a pleasant experience, especially when being woken by a female member of the Black family. Regulus should be grateful it was Narcissa shaking him awake. Bellatrix or his mother would have opted for a curse instead.

“What in the world were you thinking, Regulus Black?” She demanded as she noticed his consciousness. “You’re fortunate you still have all your organs intact after swallowing that.”

“Good to see you too, Narcissa.” he drawled, sitting up and swiping his clothes. He raised his chin in childish petulance. This was a researched trial. He did not simply drink a potion without being aware of the ramifications. “While I would love to exchange pleasantries, I think I’ll skip that and demand how you bloody got here.”

She pursed her lips, but settled into a chair of her own, hands wrapped protectively around her swollen belly. When did that happen? “Arcturus thought it would be prudent for someone to check on you. Clearly you still require constant supervision.”

He grinned as if the dig was nothing more than an annoying fly, “How interesting that grandfather would bring you in on this secret. I had no idea you held such a level of trust.”

“I approached him on a different matter,” she said, giving him a haughty look. She and her sisters had the look down; the one that made you feel as if you were worth less than scuff on their shoes. Having grown up with far worse, Regulus was immune to it now, “And in seeing that we shared common goals, he brought me into his confidence.”

“You want the dark nutter dead too, then?” She flinched, but he paid no attention, grabbing a towel and wiping the sodding potion from his arm. Days worth of work and nothing to show for it. He glared at the black ink on his skin. Could lifeless pictures look smug?

“You were trying to remove the brand,” she said in awe as she pulled the connections together. He threw her a dark look. While Narcissa had been a favorite of his growing up, second only to Sirius, he knew just what her husband did in his spare time. 

Her gaze softened, perhaps understanding his line of thinking, “Lucius is powerful and greedy. Right now, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named offers him all he could want with an agenda he supports. I have been to one meeting. And in that one meeting, a boy, no more than five, died in his mother’s arms.”

Her arms tightened around the life within her. He raised an eyebrow for her to continue, “It was a wake up call for both of us. The boy had no muggle relations. He was simply the child of a follower who failed. I will not have my child be next.”

“I’m trying to remove the Dark Mark,” he admitted, allowing some trust as she had shown, “With little to show of it. I am also working to removing the threat to our way of life. It’s a bit more difficult than most believe.”

She nodded, grateful for the temporary truce between them, “I don’t have the skill or knowledge to do much, but I can research.”

“For what in return?”

Her eyes grew steely and hard, a fierce reminder of the Black blood she carried, “To join you as those presumed dead. At least until it is safe. Not even Lucius should know.”

That was unexpected. Still, she was thinking about the child she would have and the world he would be brought up in. What kind of life could her child have while the war raged? Would he be just another casualty? Had his mother hidden Regulus and Sirius away, took another path, where would they be now?

He looked over at her, knowing his grandfather most likely already agreed to the arrangement and shrugged. The house was big enough for two more, “Well, you always were my favorite cousin. I suppose I could offer sanctuary.”


	5. A Traitor in the Midst

Narcissa was given a much more peaceful albeit public death than Regulus. With an old transfiguration spell of his grandfather’s and a few hairs from the presumed dead, Regulus staged her death near Diagon Alley. To help throw confusion in the ranks, he cast the dark mark in the sky and wrote out ‘blood traitor’ in the stones by the pseudo body. His mark burned for days after that, the wrath of Lord Voldemort against people not following his orders. 

Narcissa was content to take over duties of the house, scrambling to prepare a room for a new addition, due in December. Five months was apparently barely adequate time. And the appropriate response was apparently not ‘why not?’.

It meant Regulus spent a lot more time on the grounds around the Moor Estate. A small brown kneazle apparently lived nearby and had taken to following him on his walks. It kept him company even now as he sulked on the porch in his dueling robes, watching pixies fight over a tree in the forest. Apparently his practice was disturbing his precious cousin’s rest.

He let his hands scratch its arching back, letting some of the frustration bleed out of him. He had always had an affinity for magical creatures. Something about them eased a part of his soul, in a way that differed from the ever exuberant Hagrid. Regulus did not have the same level of excitement, rather he simply felt more at home around the various species. 

“I don’t suppose I could trade you for a companion rather than my cousin, hmm?” The kneazle gave him a stink eye, as if knowing exactly why he was out here hiding. He huffed, “Oh what do you know?”

He was saved from further descent into madness by his grandfather’s approach from behind. The only signal being the kneazle darting under the porch. Regulus didn’t look up. 

“I was approached by Nott in a detente agreement. He is curious about a third faction.” Arcturus looked around, not deigning to join his grandson by sitting on the ground like some common lout.

“Older than most of the Death Eater watch. Maybe wiser.” His grandfather conceded the point with a nod of his head, “Not much good it’ll do if we don’t get out there and help fight.”

It was an ever growing disagreement between them. Arcturus had the patience of a well fed snake. No sense in acting quickly when you could watch and wait and feast on the handouts given. Regulus had seen what Voldemort would do to those in his path and he knew that Dumbledore was little better. Voldemort acted and Dumbledore reacted and the war was reaching its peak. There needed to be an opposing force to shift the tides.

He spared a glance at his grandfather for his reaction and frowned. Dressed in dark robes was not an unusual outfit for the head of the House of Black, but the black band on his right arm stood out.

“Who died?”

His face grew somber, “Charlus and Dorea Potter. The report is dragonpox at an advanced age. Possible, but every death seems suspicious in the shadow of war. The funeral is being held today.”

Regulus’ heart wrenched. He never knew the Potters well, only through their son, who was an arrogant prick, but they were Sirius’ true parents. He would be feeling the loss deeply. “Are you attending the funeral?”

Earning a well-deserved scorning look, he huffed as his grandfather stated, “A few heads will be meeting in the ministry for a vigil of sorts, to mark the passing of a fellow head, regardless of sides.”

Of course. Heaven forbid politics be put aside for an hour to mourn the dead, even in war. Though he supposed he had little room for argument, as he hid from his brother just as surely as his grandfather hid his grief. While never on the best of terms, it was clear Arcturus had respected Charlus. He had married his cousin after all. 

“A note to the heir of the House of Potter, as well as my own heir, may not be remiss.” His comment was offhanded, casual, “Perhaps a reconciliation.”

Another argument they kept up with. Since Dumbledore was already aware of his non-death, there was little point in hiding from the Light faction. Regulus kept to the shadows now due to his insane mother and the fact that a halfblood son of a squib would be on him the moment it was revealed he was alive. Sirius would welcome him, would forgive him, would embrace him as if the past eight years meant nothing between them. And he would not be in any more danger than he already was.

Yet Regulus couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

It went beyond cowardice, though he was willing enough to admit there was reluctance in seeing his brother after so much time, with little to show for his return. Sirius had his family. He had a home and a life beyond the walls of Grimmauld Place. And the childish jealousy he harbored for being left behind was slowly loosening its grip on him. When he faced his brother, and he would one day, it would be on his own two feet and with an apology.

But that was not today, “He needs to mourn his true family. I won’t cheapen this day.”

There was a mark of disapproval on Arcturus’ face, though whether it was in regards to the family comment or Regulus’ stubborn refusal, he didn’t know. He decided to change the topic, “Can you bring the wand vault on your next visit?”

“Oh?” that earned a well-deserved raised eyebrow, “To what end?”

“It is always prudent to have a back up wand,” He said with a guileless grin. He wouldn’t reveal his true intentions. The argument with Hannah left a sour taste in his mouth. While she had yet to return, he hoped to have something for her. Her magic was powerful and clearly trained, but she could do so much more with a wand, if only she knew. 

Any further conversation came to a screeching halt as pain blossomed from his left arm. The mark burned so bad that Regulus doubled over, clutching his arm as if to rip off the skin. It was a summons. A summons of the highest order. Ignore it on pain of death. Why on earth would he want to marshal all-

The funeral.

The epiphany came just as the leather band on his wrist buzzed. The alarm on Sirius.

“Where?” he demanded the moment he could manage it. His grandfather, hovering on the edge of uncertainty shook his head in confusion, “The Potters’ funeral. Where?!”

“The Potter Estate. It’s under heavy wards.” Not enough. Not for this. A full scale attack. And why not? All of Voldemort’s enemies in one place, mourning, weak, ripe for the plucking.

Regulus didn’t know the Potter Estate or even the general area, but a summons from the Dark Lord always provided a tracing ability. It was risky, appearing in the Death Eater’s ranks without a mask or robes. What choice was there? His brother was in danger. He didn’t escape death in that cave to ignore the threat now.

In all that though, he was still a Slytherin at heart, which meant not brashly jumping into the fray with nary a thought. He disillusioned himself, throwing up the hood of his cloak for good measure, before answering the summons for the first time in almost a year.

He arrived as the forces were collecting, preparing to breach. It was a bright and sunny day, bitter in its cheery heat. Regulus slunk behind a tree as a few more popped into view. Voldemort wasn’t here yet, he would arrive when victory was secured and not a moment sooner. Coward. While he was out of the loop, he anticipated a few moments while everyone worked to overwhelm the wards.

He was very out of the loop.

He watched in growing horror as the group simply walked through the wards as if they weren’t there. Only a traitor very close to the Potters could have ensured the easy access. Only a close friend would be able to provide that information.

Shoving away that information for later examination, Regulus scrambled to figure out the next course of action. He could see a group of figures, most likely the funeral, on the crest of the hill, backs to the oncoming slaughter. Wands began to raise. From his hiding spot, he cast a spell to raise his voice, then pointed at the nearest Death Eater.

“Stupefy!”

His voice carried through the woods and over the hill; it was like kicked a hornet’s nest. Thirty Death Eaters turned towards his voice while those of the Light sprung into action. Regulus didn’t wait to be discovered, he disapparated to a different spot, closer to the Potters.

His alert didn’t offer too much advantage. It only allowed warning. The Light were still at a disadvantage. They were out in the open, caught unawares, while the Death Eaters had the trees for protection. Even the chaos of a traitor amongst their midst was not enough to disorient them from their true goal. 

Spellfire ricocheted through the trees. This would be a massacre, a tipping point in the war. With so many of the fighters killed in one fell swoop, no one would stand to fight back the Dark. The tenuous formation of a neutral party would not be enough to stop the utter destruction of the wizarding war. 

The Light was not alone now. They had one who knew the Death Eater’s playbook, the rules they fought by, and he intended to reap chaos among them. Still hidden among the trees, he cast stunners each time they hid against the faction of the light. Once they got suspicious of his location, he changed. Since he was outside the wards, apparating posed no problem. Even with his help, the Dark was gaining, people were beginning to flee. 

A call went out for family magic.

Flames erupted on the hill, seeking out those that would harm the head of the house of Potter, the last of the line.

Regulus watched in awe as half the Death Eaters fled. That wouldn’t stop Bellatrix, but she had always been off her rocker. She would see no reason to stop fighting against an angry wall of fire.

Forces now even, the Light fought in earnest. Chaos reigned for a few brief moments until Regulus found himself face to face with the Lady of the House. Fire surrounded them, not burning the grass beneath it, but doing damage by the screams. They both hesitated, gripping wands tightly, waiting for the storm to break.

“My husband thinks you’re haunting him.”

What.

His shock must have registered on his face, she relaxed, even throwing a smirk, “Of course, that’s ridiculous and ninety percent of what’s happening to him are pranks from Sirius, who is unaware of James seeing you at St. Mungo’s.” 

What does he even say to that? He looked around at the flames surrounding them, effectively cutting them off from the rest of the fight. Was this her doing? Did she corner him to drag him to the Light? He eyed her warily.

“The fire only harms those with ill intent against the House of Potter,” she explained, correctly guessing his thoughts. Perhaps the strand of idiocy in Gryffindor was only embodied in his brother, “And since Sirius was formally adopted at 17 into the house, that would include him.”

“What?” he croaked. Sirius wasn’t…. 

Her features grew soft, maternal. Hadn’t she just had a child? What in Merlin’s name was she doing in battle? “James has always been desperate for a large family. The Potter line… it was decimated in the last war and this one seems determined to finish the job. And Sirius just wanted someone to see him, to accept him. They’re family to each other. But James wants a  _ large _ family. He adopts everyone he comes across. And Sirius follows his lead.”

She paused, her gaze back to sharp and critical, “Though I don’t think it’s James that’s stopping you.”

He resisted the urge to snap and growl at her. What did she know?  _ Too much _ , a small voice whispered. Here’s this complete stranger reading him like an open book. The way someone who heard stories about him. Who knew someone he was close to his whole life. Until Hogwarts. He shook his head at the dangerous thoughts.

“Will you tell him?”

“I should.” Regulus gripped his wand, obliviate on the tip of his tongue. Would the fire consider it ill intent? His gaze snapped to hers as she continued, “But I won’t. I don’t think either of you are ready for that reunion.”

Shouts were growing closer, the fight was dwindling. He needed to leave. Edging towards the fire, away from the shadows of people just beyond it, Regulus paused, “You shouldn’t put all your faith in Dumbledore. He plays by the same rules as the Dark Lord, just less compunction about killing. It will allow the Dark to win.”

He didn’t wait for a response, bracing against the fire and letting out a breath of relief as he passed through it harmlessly.

“Stay safe, Regulus.”


	6. The War Continues

The months that followed the battle at the funeral were, what some would call, twitchy for Regulus. Those same people would earn a stinging hex and be asked who was twitchy now. At every burn of the mark on his arm, Regulus was apparating, fighting, fleeing, helping. Well, he wasn’t entirely sure how much he helped. 

Perhaps this was all a gesture of futility.

The Dark still gained ground, but it was at a much more sedate pace. The rumors of Death Eaters turning against each other made both sides nervous. Voldemort burned through his ranks with vicious glee. Bellatrix, his stalwart commander, doled out punishment in heaps and droves. It inspired fear and cowardice in the ranks, but also had them seeking out other alternatives. The majority of the Death Eaters, young and foolish, had not signed up for torture, at least not torture on themselves. The neutral faction was growing.

But not acting.

Regulus glared at the blackboard filled with names and dates and various facts. A few names nudged under his glare, joining the middle. Even with that, the names jittered and flitted back and forth between Voldemort’s forces and the neutral group.

“What are you doing?”

He flicked his eyes briefly to his cousin. She was miraculously baby free at the moment. Draco Regis Malfoy had been born on a cold morning last month. If Regulus had thought a pregnant Narcissa had been a handful, it was nothing with a wailing child. Still, as infants go, the newest member to the House of Black wasn’t awful.

“Playing chess,” he drawled, looking back to the board. “Care to offer insight?”

That startled her. Narcissa was a strong woman, but she has used to playing the shadows. Bellatrix stole the hearts of the Dark with her gleeful jump into torture and death while Andromeda swayed with the Light, bringing on different attention. With her quiet, respectful marriage and quiet, respectful stance, Narcissa was overlooked, unconsidered. He doubted Lucius was in the habit of asking his wife’s opinion.

Still, she took in the names and positions of people on the various sides of the war with the intensity it deserved, “I would have thought you knew more in the inner circle.”

“The Dark Pretender keeps information compartmentalized. No one knows the full picture, no one knows all the facts.” It was the biggest difference between the two factions, aside from the different philosophies. While both leaders hoarded knowledge and people, the old headmaster did not safeguard those closest to him well. Those allied in the Light were well-known and targeted accordingly.

She hummed, studying the nervous names in the gray, all pushing and shoving behind each other, unwilling to act, “The Light is losing.”

“Or will lose, unless they take more drastic measures.” He tapped his fingers on his wand, staring at his brother’s name, “Dumbledore is leading them to their doom.”

“Then convince key people in the Light to swing neutral. Find a new banner to fight under.”

He nodded, swiping his wand. Names disappeared, leaving only those with the most influence. Most of the Black family remained. “Ideally, it would need to be one in our generation. Both Light and Dark are being led by the old, too wrapped up in prejudice and habits. The new leader will also need to be able to influence those on both sides of the fence.”

Narcissa studied the names left, eyes glittering at the knowledge and confidence. It was never wise to ignore those that lurked in the shadows. They were the ones that saw and heard the most, “Potter is a natural leader, charismatic and friendly, but too Light. Nott would be too old. Could Sirius be swayed?”

“Sirius owes no allegiance to Dumbledore,” he said, sitting in a plush armchair, twirling his wand with his thoughts, “He grew up in a Dark household that disparaged the old man’s character. However, he does put allegiance in Potter, who follows the headmaster with the loyalty of a whipped dog.”

Perhaps that was putting it too strongly. He had limited interactions with Potter. His therapist would claim that he was projecting his own dissatisfaction with his relationship with Sirius on the nearest target, but his therapist could sod off. Sirius did follow Potter. And Potter followed Dumbledore. That was all that needed to be said.

Humming, she cycled through the names again, then pointed her wand to the blackboard. Regulus’ name appeared as a header over the neutral party. The man in question blanched.

“You must be joking.”

She raised an eyebrow, “You’re young, raised Dark, but not fully entrenched, your brother is stalwart Light, appealing to that side, and you have the political acumen to sway and entice.”

His face arranged in a way that looked like he swallowed a nasty potion, “I am also, to the majority of our world, dead.”

“By choice.”

“As are you,” he shot back. He had no intention of taking the charge against Riddle or Dumbledore. Stepping out in the spotlight was not an option.

“By necessity. If I showed up alive, my entire family would be at risk. My son would be killed. That is not acceptable.” She fixed him with a harsh glare, “You do not have such dangers.”

That was true. Sirius couldn’t be in any more danger than he already was and the rest of his family had sided with Riddle. Grandfather had yet to show his wand so would be excused from any meddling. Regulus was a viable option in that stand point. 

But something rattled at the thought of leading against the two factions. Truthfully he wanted to stick the two ‘leaders’ in his mother’s dungeon and let them kill each other. It would also mean coming clean, facing Sirius, owning up to his actions. As well as alerting Riddle to the possibility of his evil objects being compromised. That was not acceptable.

“I’ll think about it,” he said, swiping the board clean and stalking out of the house. 

Winter was settling over the mountains and he took a deep breath, enjoying the sharp bite in the air. He looked around for the kneazle that lurked around the house. Narcissa hadn’t seen it, probably for the best, but he could usually count on its company when he was out. He was always calmer around animals. 

Instead a head of brown hair stuck out of the bushes, looking around furtively, then grinning at Regulus, “You alone?”

“Obviously not with you here,” he drawled. Hannah rolled her eyes and plopped next to him. Had she grown thinner? His eyes narrowed, “Wait here.”

He went back inside, grabbing a tray of food and a small box. Narcissa had retreated further into the house, allowing him to sulk, allowing him to get the things he needed without an inquisition. He returned outside, setting the food between them.

“I don’t need your charity.” Her vehemence was undercut by the hunger in her eyes. He waved it off nonchalant.

“It would be rude of me not to offer you food while I partake.” The excuse of decorum was enough for her to grab the bread, fingers sinking into its warmth. Where was her coat? He shook the thought away as he cast a subtle warming charm, “I would like to apologize for my careless words in our last encounter.”

She looked up in surprise, head tilting to the side, jaw still working through the bread, “Suppose I didn’t help.”

“If your amenable, I would offer a trade of knowledge. Your teachings in wandless magic and mine in formal wand subjects.” He watched her grow wary, retreating within herself, ready to lash out.

“I don’t have a wand.”

He pulled out the box, opening it to show a case of wands, relics of ancestors long gone. “These may not be a perfect match, but they could work for practice.”

The moment he opened the box, he knew she was hooked. Hunger that went beyond food gleamed in her eyes. It was easy to recognize, something he once held whenever Sirius brought back stories and books that first year. “Do I just pick one?”

He laid out the wands, a dozen or so, “Let’s try a general sweep first. You’re in tune with your magic unlike most, so you should feel a draw or connection. A wand is meant to compliment your magic, draw it out, work with it.”

Her hands shook as she followed his instructions, going slow over each wand, eventually closing her eyes. After what seemed an eternity, her fingers clasped around a light wood wand. 

“This one. It… it has the closest match.” 

Regulus pulled out a small notebook with the wand information. 14 inches, flexible, phoenix paired with alder. An unusual combination, testy and indifferent owned by a neutral great-great uncle. “Well, this is only for practice. If this bloody war ever ends, I’ll take you to Ollivanders. If anyone has a match for you, it would be him.”

He then pulled out school books, his own, scribbles in the margins and all, “You’ll probably catch on quicker than most first years, but the theory is sound in these books. We need to start with the basics.”

For the next hour, they suffered through the first year curriculum. The difficulty lay with encouraging Hannah to funnel her magic through the wand, rather than simply casting an overpowered wandless wave of magic. He imagined spells with more complicated results would prove easier, refined spells that could not be replicated by crude results. 

That said, the power she held was incredible. Both in terms of quantity and control. Studying wandless magic, studying magic at its core, certainly had its perks. He called off the lesson after an hour and they both drank tea greedily.

“Okay, so I guess your silly wand waving is harder than it looks,” she huffed, grabbing the scones that appeared on the tray.

“I would say the same of your skill in wandless magic.” He held out advanced theory books, one that explained the whys of spell casting. It had taken him several days of finding the right book, “This may help.”

“I can’t take this,” she said as her fingers closed around the leather binding. “I…. I can’t take it home.”

“I’ll leave it in this box. It’ll be safe from the weather and you can read through it whenever you stop by. I’ll keep the wand here as well, though I recommend not trying anything without someone present.” He didn’t press on the reference to her home life. Was she even of age yet? Not that she couldn’t run off sooner, but where would she go? Unless he planned on opening the estate to all runaways and undead, she had nowhere to go.

“Thank you Regulus.” Her words were soft and uncertain and she kept her gaze on the grain of the decking they sat on. He shrugged off the unfettered gratitude, uncomfortable with its weight.

“Just don’t kill me when you try the more advanced spells. I escaped death once, I’d rather not do it again.” The stifling air lifted and she rolled her eyes, placing the books and wand reverently in the box his suggested.

“Think I hear your cousin wailing. See ya Regs.” She was gone before he could protest the awful twist of his name. With a sigh, he packed up his things and retreated to the library, away from screaming children and confusing runaways.


	7. Another to Join the Living Dead

The beginning of 1981 was much less exciting than its ending. Regulus was coming to the dreadful conclusion that all his attempts at help were only prolonging the inevitable. He was stalling the Dark, forcing it to retreat a step for every five it advanced. He had hoped that someone with power and influence would step up, would finally fight back and win against his former master. Instead, Dumbledore remained in power and resolutely impassive in his actions. He may have no choice but to step into the leader role of the neutral faction, just as Narcissa had suggested.

What’s worse, the Potters had gone into hiding. 

While this wasn’t unexpected, they had a young child to think about, it was damaging to the Light. Despite his misgivings towards the young Head of House, Potter was an exceptionally powerful wizard and his wife was bright and wicked in her charms. Losing those fighters took its toll. Regulus felt it in every battle he attempted to sway to the Light. 

They weren’t under Fidelius; the charms he placed last year still gave insight into their location. That seemed a foolish decision, but Fidelius was a difficult charm, only certain people could perform it. Maybe the situation wasn’t dire enough. Potter still showed up like a bad penny when fights teetered on the edge decimation. And, as expected, he seemed to turn the tide of the battle. Why wasn’t he leading the Light?

One particularly nasty, Potter-less, and thankfully also Sirius-less, battle, Regulus crashed through the wards of Moor Estate and stumbled to his hands and knees in the foyer. His breaths came out harsh and grasping, but no sounds of a screaming child followed his graceless entry. With a grunt, he forced himself upright, only to fall to the nearby cabinet, strategically located for easy access. 

“You just missed Grandfather.”

Regulus didn’t acknowledge his cousin’s presence, grabbing a vial and swallowing its contents in one gulp. The burning that threatened his limbs and organs dissipated, leaving the brutal hex mark across his ribs. Narcissa did not offer her help. She knew better by now. 

He muttered the countercharm to his ribs, then the healing spell that would at the very least minimize scarring. Before he could continue, bandages wrapped around his ribs. He glared at her.

She raised an eyebrow, then motioned for him to sit. He complied, exhaustion and horror threatening to either force him unconscious or lose his stomach. His hands shook.

Narcissa didn’t ask for details or reasons. She just cast a diagnostic spell and passed him potions. Her movements were softer since her first arrival, the sharp brittle edges born from a dark upbringing and unloving marriage were whittling down in the house with freedom and open choices. Would she be able to go back when all was said and done? Would any of them?

Desperate to shake those thoughts from his mind, he gulped another potion and asked, “What did Grandfather want?”

“He was bringing an update from his network, simple rumors and various snippets. Nothing verified.” She waved his wand, ignoring his flinch, and mended his robes. “He left notes for your perusal. With your return, I shall retire.”

She floated to the door, pausing to look back a moment. Her lips pursed and gave him an admonishing look, “It does no one any good if you kill yourself trying to prove yourself for Sirius.”

She left, he sulked. Grabbing his grandfather’s notes, he sunk into the bed and misery.

Morning proved no less irritating as his body protested use after a gruesome battle. Still he sat in the library and sipped at his tea as he processed notes. Nothing useful, everything speculation. An unspeakable informant mentioned a prophecy, but gave no hints about its contents, only that it could mean the end of the war, at the expense of a boy.

Prophecies were wooly. Interpretation was dangerous. As such, Regulus noted it in passing and left it at that. He had better things to do than wonder about the uncertainty of the future. 

Instead, he poured over maps, plans, names, working out strategies for both sides. Voldemort was growing more erratic, sending out smaller forces, hitting lesser known targets. The thought of a traitor amongst the Death Eaters had caused panic, but it was ebbing now as they worked out his limitations. It may be time for him to attend another meeting, but what guarantee did he have that he would not draw the master’s attention?

He could become an animagus, something that had always intrigued him as a child. His form may not be adaptable to spying though. More research was required before he could take that step. A chime went off in the study and he closed his notes, rubbing his eyes. With only slight reluctance, Regulus went out into the cold to meet with Hannah.

Hannah had grown in leaps and bounds in her magic. The basic spell work coupled with advanced theory, she was soaking up the new wand ability. Regulus could not say the same about his attempts at wandless, even with her tips on meditation and magic study. He stepped into the shed with a stomp of his boots, clearing the snow.

Hannah was sitting on the floor, wand rotating in her fingers, a bruise wrapping around her arm in a gross imitation of a hand. She did not look up at his approach, but her body jumped slightly. Her eyes glittered with tears and he sat beside her, waiting to see what she needed from him.

“My pa has this book,” she whispered, unable to get her voice to a higher level. He leaned in to hear, “Shows the whole family, anyone living, anyone dead. Ain’t got much left, living that is. Not here. Distant cousins, mostly on my ma’s side.”

Regulus didn’t push, letting the story unfold as she needed. She shifted, fingers going white in their grip on the wand, “Had a bad day, have a lot of those, but this one? Couldn’t take it anymore. Had to get out and well, my magic is me, it responded. I was holding this little ornament and it suddenly glowed and I knew. I knew where I could find my relatives.”

“So you broke into my house.” His attempt at humor was horrible, but it lifted a corner of her mouth.

“Needed food to keep going,” she shrugged, “I didn’t know about the war, not til you mentioned it. Went to find some cousin named Tom, had this huge long speech planned.”

A horrifying thought strayed across his mind, but he pushed it back desperately, focusing on the young girl in front of him. Did he look that young when he spoke to his mind healer about his past? “Did you find him?”

She snorted, but it held no humor in it, “Oh yeah, but he’s kinda trying to raze Britain to the ground. I panicked, my pa caught up, dragged me back.”

Running a hand over his face, he uttered what he didn’t want to speculate, “Tom Riddle, born to Merope Gaunt, last of the Gaunt line.”

She nodded, but a fire in her eyes that never dimmed sparked up again, “I ain’t him. Nor my pa. I got muggle friends and they… they don’t deserve that. I just…. I can’t go back Regulus.”

Gentle helping her up with her uninjured arm, he wrapped his cloak around her, “I know. Let’s go inside.”

She shuffled her feet and didn’t protest as he ushered her into a chair by the fire. Her fingers were so cold and her skin pale and ashy. Running a quick diagnostic, and taking notice of her shiver, he ordered Tippy to get a pepper up potion and high nutrient foods. Before he could coax her to drink some tea, Narcissa entered with a sharp take of breath, her arms tightening around the child in her arms.

Draco gurgled happily, unaware of the frosty atmosphere. Regulus sighed, “Cousin Narcissa, please meet Hannah Sayre, Hannah, my cousin Narcissa. Hannah will be joining us in death.”

Narcissa sniffed, raising her nose as she looked at Hannah up and down, noticed the protruding bones and stretched skin, “You’re going to need a bigger house if you keep inviting people to die with you, Regulus.”

That was enough to force Hannah out of her stupor, “I won’t be a burden.”

“Nonsense,” she waved the protest, sinking into a chair and immediately accepting the role of matron of the house, “I could use company beyond Regulus’ foul attempts of wit.”

He huffed, but it brought life and laughter back into her face. She grinned at his embarrassment, “Still, I’ll leave once the snow melts.”

“And go where?” he asked, perhaps hovering on the edge of demand. What did she have against this house to warrant leaving?

She shrugged as if she hadn’t a care in the world, “Maybe I’ll see the world. Find a proper beach.”

“We’ll enjoy this time that we have then,” Narcissa said before he could argue the merits of that plan. She settled him with an admonishing look, “Regulus, fetch Draco’s binky for me, would you?”

He summoned it without getting up, his body still protesting the night before. Handing it over to his cousin he bowed as per protocol, like Narcissa would have demanded in the company of guests. Hannah snorted in her tea, “I’ll be in the library.”

“You’re a hoot, Reggie.” With a groan, he fled to his sanctuary.

Narcissa found him there hours later, childless and guestless, “I slipped a dreamless sleep into her tea. A small mercy, I am sure.”

He grunted, not lifting his nose from the book as a quill moved to take notes of his mutterings. He finished the chapter on magical brands and set it down, the quill coming to rest. Narcissa had conjured tea for him, the steam swirling at his elbow. “Thank you.”

“You should have been Ravenclaw.” A mild insult to his bookish ways, barely a barb. 

“My study is out of necessity, not habit.” He rubbed his eyes and took a sip of the tea, “But you did not come here to comment on my sorting.”

She sat in the opposite chair, nearer the fire, her thoughts and gaze distant, “You have a habit of picking up strays.”

He didn’t deny it. As a child, he had often snuck owls with broken wings and kneazles with bad mange over to his cousin Andromeda to fix. She had the best healing of all the kids. Sirius would try, but he was too young. The only trick was to not get caught by Bella. If she found him with a hurt animal, the animal would be better off dead. As such, he enlisted cousin Cissy to help more often than not. Strange how those childhood schemes translated into their older selves. Andy marrying a healer, Bella embracing Voldemort with glee, and Cissy here, as always, helping with the strays.

“Someone has to,” he said, more weary than he would have said it as a child, a hand rubbing over his face.

Narcissa looked over at him, perhaps thinking of the past as well as she asked, “What ever made you bow to that madman? The little boy carrying in owls and mice and snakes hated bullies.”

What indeed. Regulus spent so many nights and sessions with his mind healer going over that exact question, dissecting his journey to the lair of death. It was both simple and exceedingly complicated, “I convinced myself that I would do anything for my parents, I would be the son Sirius was not, and they wanted me to join. Beyond that, I was too busy tending animals to notice my own wounds open and bleeding. He is a master of manipulating broken and hurting people to his will.”

All Voldemort had to do was twist the wand in those wounds, to show how much he cared about Regulus, about his animals and intellect and care. Those in power could do anything they wanted. Didn’t Regulus want power? Didn’t he want to do whatever he wanted? He squeezed his eyes shut, shoving those thoughts in a dark corner of his mind, unwilling to dwell on his own brand of idiocy.

A hand was placed on his arm, the one that would be seemingly forever branded. He looked up to his cousin, a soft look in her eyes, “We both took journeys we had not anticipated, but escaped. I will help in whatever I can to ensure Hannah and others like her are able to escape as well.”

Not trusting his voice, he nodded. With an admonishment of the late hour, Narcissa retired. Regulus stared at the fire for another hour, mind tumbling through his own childhood, before giving it up as folly and retiring as well.


	8. The Horror of War

Not even Regulus escaping death in that cave, nor the lives he saved from certain death and changes he made to the war, could prevent the horror of Halloween 1981. Saving the Prewett twins would not save the Potter family. Taking the hit meant for Amelia Bones would not save a young boy from a scar. Dragging Marlene McKinnon from a burning house would not prevent Sirius Black from landing in Azkaban.

The entire year had been difficult for Regulus. Hannah had left as soon as the snows melted as promised, but often sent letters and postcards. Narcissa filled the house with cinnamon and ginger and spice to mark Draco’s first autumn. At Regulus’ suggestion, she had reached out to a mind healer. He did not know the pitfalls she had to work through, but after a few sessions, he could see improvements. She asked for things, things that had no value or purpose except in the desire to want them. She would always be a woman raised to be a lady, but the sharp edges began to dull. Regulus imagined they would make themselves known should her family be threatened.

October rolled around with the nagging feeling of doom. He double-checked the wards, he went on raids and dived into Animagus training, desperate for a second form to help. When the Potters went under a Fidelius charm, his anxiety tripled. Most nights were spent lurking around Sirius’ apartment, ensuring his brother was safe, seeing with his own eyes that he was unharmed.

All that led to October 31, 1981, when Narcissa, done with his incessant twitching and hovering, spilled a powerful sleep potion in his drink and had Tippy send him to bed. The leather band that held charms on the Potters and Sirius was removed from his wrist and he was tucked into bed. The Dark Mark still burned on his arm, but the potions and spells he shot at it lessened it enough that the pain of its master’s passing did not wake the young man.

Voldemort fell. The Potters died. Sirius raged. And Regulus slept.

The day, though it was nearly over, found a groggy eyed Regulus switching from glares at his cousin to bewildered looks at his arm. The mark was faded, but he wasn’t sure which potion had done the trick. The floo chimed, Arcturus Black stepped into the dining room. 

The last vestiges of sleep cleared from his mind in a spike of panic. A roll of newspaper was tucked under his grandfather’s arm and his head was bowed, “Last night, the imposter known as Lord Voldemort did a solo strike against the last of the Potters. The babe was the only one to survive.”

Regulus stood sharply, the chair clattering behind him. Draco, sensing the tension in the room, began to cry. Narcissa held him close. Unfortunately, Arcturus was not done, “My heir had been named Secret Keeper and thus labelled a traitor.”

“That’s absolute rubbish!” Any thought to not react, to stop and plan and process, did not cross Regulus’ mind. No matter his feelings towards the Potters, they were Sirius’ family. His brother would rather endure torture at Bellatrix’s hand than betray them.

“It matters not. He’s already been arrested.” He laid out the newspaper on the table. Regulus grabbed it frantically.

THIRTEEN KILLED. BLACK A DEATH EATER ALL ALONG

YOU-KNOW-WHO VANQUISHED. POTTER CHILD THE BOY-WHO-LIVED

The world tunneled for a moment and his grandfather was gripping his elbow. No. This made no sense. It wasn’t right. He threw away the paper in disgust. “Sirius is not a Death Eater!”

The thought was so repulsive it left a bitter taste in his mouth. How could any think such a thing? Surely those that worked with him, that saw him with Potter, could see the bond between them, the shining light that poured out of Sirius in waves.

“He was already under suspicion by nature of his surname. They must have some evidence to this Secret Keeper to claim such. The public needs no other reason.” Arcturus’ voice was clipped and cold, detached. What more could they do, he was saying. They were as black as their name. No one would take the word of a dead Death Eater and aging pureblooded lord on the innocence of one of their own.

Regulus attempted to apparate, only for the wards to slam around him. He growled at his grandfather and stormed out. If he had to walk to the edge of the property, 5 miles out, to apparate, then so be it.

“Regulus, be reasonable.”

He whirled around, feeling nothing but spite and anger and hatred for the man before him. Emotions he shut down and pushed aside normally rose to the surface, demanding to be felt, “No. I have had enough of your cautions and passive actions. This war has gone on for fifteen years! Fifteen years and you sat on your arse and did nothing! And now, you want to hide and fling money around as if the world has not changed. Enough! You’ve had your turn to fix this, now it’s mine.”

Whether by shock or shame, the wards lifted around him and Regulus was gone with barely a sound. A leather band slipped off a nightstand as it buzzed, only one light where three once shone.

Apparating without a clear destination is dangerous. Regulus had a clear destination. He had to get to Sirius. So he found himself outside the Ministry. Slipping to the shadows, he had enough reason rattling between his ears to disguise himself before sneaking through the doors. 

The Ministry was in chaos. Unsurprising given the last 24 hours. Death Eaters were brought in by Aurors, screaming innocence and placing bribes. Hit Wizards were popping in and out, haggard and gritty. Reporters clamored and scattered with each arrest. Had Sirius already been brought before a trial? Had he already been released? No, unlikely given the state of the Ministry.

Unsatisfied and unwilling to admit his grandfather was right, Regulus left the Ministry and snagged a newspaper, reading through the articles again. What was Sirius doing on that street?

The simpering article laid out a vague scene. Pettigrew apparently shouting his guilt to the world before he literally blew up. Regulus’ eyes narrowed. He knew all his brother’s friends, knew the band of brothers that tormented the school. Pettigrew was a sniveling character, often whimpering behind the other three. The rat would not have confronted Sirius, so why had his brother cornered him?

The solution was simple but idiotic and bold, perfect for the thing Sirius called a brain. They switched Secret Keepers, chose the least likely candidate, and wrote their doom. 

His next stop was the street. Magical containment had already sealed the area. Regulus swept the street for clues, for any evidence that Pettigrew survived. Cracks in the street were not big enough for a man to slip through. Too many in the crowd would have noticed a man survive the blast. Lead weighing his heart and his shoes, he would have to accept that he could not exonerate his brother with Pettigrew’s testimony. 

Another dead end, but he was too restless. Regulus found himself at Godric’s Hollow. This too was swarming with Magical Containment Unit as they attempted to keep the house standing. He hid in a copse of trees behind the houses, watching people scurrying about to preserve a historical moment. People cheered and celebrated as they watched, as if they were not witnessing the loss of a family, as if a child did not just lose its parents. 

Regulus stared at his Dark Mark, dormant and scarlike now. Not gone, because Voldemort was not gone. There were other horcruxes out there, including the one he had failed to destroy, sitting in a vault on Moor Estate. A knarl scurried over to him, prodding his clothes for hidden treats, then scurried off again. 

How did they untangle themselves from this mess? Where should he even begin?

Resigning himself to the fact that he could not help Sirius at the moment, he turned to the pressing issue of his previous master. The horcruxes must be destroyed or he would terrorize Britain again. With the mark tied to his power, Regulus hoped they would have some warning of his return. The aim for the horcruxes was either three or seven, with one part being held within Voldemort himself. He would need to know how many were made and what the objects were and then, of course, how to destroy them.

So objective one, utterly destroy Voldemort and ensure the remnants of his soul burn.

Objective two, clear Sirius’ name if he is incapable of doing so himself. 

That would be trickier. Finding evidence in a blown up street and a raging public would be near impossible. He would need to approach Dumbledore and the last of the remaining marauders. Remus Lupin had to be around here somewhere. Surely he had doubts about Sirius’ guilt. 

He ran a hand through his hair and let out a huff. All this would be easier alive than dead. Dumbledore once offered him a teaching position, perhaps he could still accept it. 

With a somewhat ordered mind, Regulus returned home, but did not go to the house. Instead, he went to the shed, sinking to the floor and into a meditative stance. He could not charge into the chaos like a Gryffindor. He would only end up in a cell next to Sirius that way. He was a Slytherin and would act like it.

His meditation was twofold. First was to get a grasp on wandless magic. Hannah swore by meditation, claiming it would help him become in tune with his core. The second was to find an animagus form. All the research he found claimed meditation was the best practice to finding a true form. Unfortunately, he had limited results. A nagging part of his mind worried that the blasted potion he drank in the cave had stunted his powers.

A kneazle bumped his knee hours later and he blinked. Before he could tell it to buzz off it stepped back and blurred. 

Hannah gave a tentative smile.

“Merlin’s saggy pants.” He huffed and let out a cold laugh. It did nothing to warm his heart or fetter hope, but for a brief moment, he was not as burdened, “Of course you’re an animagus. I’ve been attempting to find a form for months and here you are a kneazle that’s been terrorizing me for a year.”

He had wondered where the kneazle had wandered off, hoping the winter had not driven it away or killed it. No wonder it looked like it was laughing at him the whole time. He accepted her hand to stand, “To be fair, it’s in my blood. We’re basically all shifters. I got a flying form too.”

Grunting, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, unwilling to go back to the house, “Did Narcissa tell you?”

“I was already on my way back. Beaches ain’t got nothing on bogs.” She stayed at his side, offering the comfort of presence like he had all those months ago, “My pa died apparently. Went to the house and it was torn apart.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He wasn’t really either. There would be nothing but relief when his mother finally passed on. He would burn the house to the ground when that finally happened. His mind healer said fire could be cleansing. “Cissy said your brother’s in trouble.”

He nodded, unable to speak at the moment. If he could he would have warned her that Sirius embodied trouble, that getting him out of it would be nearly impossible. He would tell her how hopeless everything seemed while everyone around him celebrated. She cocked her head, matching her kneazle form, “Guess we’ll get him out of it then.”

“Come on.” He led her back to the house. Narcissa was sitting primly on the floor as Draco toddled about. His grandfather had thankfully left, “I think it’s time we all stopped playing dead.”

His cousin eyed him cooly, “Is that wise right now?”

“We’ll give the chaos time to settle, but I doubt we’re the only ones to come out of hiding now that the threat is temporarily handled.” All the rats that jumped ship would return home now that the danger had passed.

“Temporarily?”

Regulus sighed and summoned a blackboard. He needed to work out his thoughts and Hannah and Narcissa were the best audience. “Let’s start at the beginning; why I died.”


	9. Falling into Grace

While Sirius Black spent many afternoons lectured in various offices throughout Hogwarts, including the headmaster’s twice, Regulus was brought up once. That was after the nasty fight he and Sirius had where both ended in the hospital wing. Once sufficiently recovered, Dumbledore gave a gentle lecture about finding the right path then sent him off with a slap on his wrist and a lemon drop. It was utterly pointless. He walked away ready to take the Dark Mark if it meant escaping his brother and the pathetic leader of the Light.

And yet, here he was, admiring the various trinkets that bordered on Dark origins while a Phoenix trilled at him. He pet the flaming plumage, fascinated by the warmth that spread through him. More than just heat, comfort and hope swelled in his veins. 

Bemusedly, he told the bird, “I’m afraid hope won’t do me much good. I need something a little more tangible.”

All the hope did was wonder how his brother was doing. He had been moved to Azkaban over the night. He couldn’t get into the Ministry to demand a trial transcript until he was declared alive. He couldn’t show up alive until he had the immunity backed by Albus Dumbledore. Which led him to waiting in an ostentatious office for the codgy old goat. The meddling old fool would no doubt be beside himself in glee at the thought of a reformed spy to manipulate to his whims.

As if knowing his thoughts, Fawkes gave an admonishing chirp. Well, maybe a phoenix wasn’t as useful as a familiar as Regulus had thought. Who wanted a mind-reading bird judging your thoughts all the time?

The stone grinded behind him and Albus Dumbledore smiled genially, the trademark twinkle absent in the wake of grief, “So sorry for my lateness. As you can imagine, these are trying times.”

Regulus nodded and took his own seat before the headmaster could show him out, “I will get straight to it then, I was hoping the offer of employment still stood.”

“I thought you did not wish to, how did you put it? Fall into my good graces?”

“Circumstances change.” Let him assume what he will from that statement. Regulus met the old man’s gaze, anticipating the brush of another on his mental barriers. His gaze grew cold as it retreated.

“It would be very difficult to reveal yourself now, especially with your brother’s betrayal.” There was so much remorse and heaviness in his voice, his shoulders suddenly holding a great weight. It was all Regulus needed to see. Dumbledore believed Sirius to be guilty.

“Were you there when they placed the Fidelius charm?” He asked mildly, sipping at the tea offered. 

“Alas, I was not. Had I been, perhaps I could have convinced James to switch, offer my own services.” He heaved a sigh, popping in a lemon drop like some sort of comfort. Regulus hummed uncommittedly. They would receive no help from Dumbledore for Sirius. 

“We’ve strayed from the point, I’m afraid.”

He shook himself, ridding himself of memories and regrets, “Ah, yes. Unfortunately I had already filled the position I mentioned to you before. Young Severus was quite eager to join the staff last summer.”

Regulus frowned, mind reeling, “Severus Snape?”

He nodded, “A story like yours. Severus has been crucial in these last months of war, saving many lives.”

To save his own skin, most likely. Regulus had limited interaction with the older boy at school. Severus was too embroiled against Sirius and Regulus had the misfortune of looking like him. He knew the man was unparalleled when it came to potions, but teaching? The boy he knew could barely force himself to interact with his peers, much less anyone deemed less than him.

Before he could form a response, Dumbledore offered, “I could use a Defense teacher. A fighter like yourself must have much knowledge to pass on to the next generation.”

How much had Dumbledore guessed or seen of his action in the war? Regulus had been careful at covering his tracks when he went out in battles. His face was never shown, but there were not that many Death Eaters that defected to fight against Voldemort. Regulus’ experience with turncoats had shown they are all cowards and self-serving.

“I would prefer a job longer than a year. Unless the rumored curse on the job has finally been lifted?” He highly doubted it and he would prefer a potion teaching job over DADA anyways. He was certain Severus could be convinced to move to safer shores for his best interests. 

“Then I’m afraid I have little to offer.” To his credit, he sounded remorseful. Regulus didn’t buy it. He stood and straightened his robes.

“Should an opening arise, I would be grateful for the opportunity.”

“Of course.”

Regulus walked out of the office, the phoenix trilling after him, and wandered through the castle. Class was in session so he met with very few students and teachers. Probably for the best. While he was not necessarily recognizable by sight, there could be a few that would know who he was.

Memories haunted each step he took, arguments with Sirius in shadowed corners, curses flying between them. Hate and hurt and betrayal on both sides causing such a gap that even now seemed impossible to breach. And now Sirius was most likely reliving the worst of Regulus’ taunts and snipes. Or would those hurts even register in the loss of the Potters?

With a sigh, Regulus traced his steps down towards the dungeons. A few first years skittered past him, had he ever been that small? He slipped into the potion professor’s study, knowing how to sneak past the screaming armor and spying portrait of Julien the Tired. As he suspected, Severus was hunched over a potion, lost to the world.

To his credit, he waited until the man dropped his ingredient in before making himself known. No need to ruin a potion for dramatics, “A few girls said there was a troll in the dungeon. I see they weren’t wrong.”

He whirled around, wand out and curse on his lips. Regulus deflected the spell with a lazy wave of his hand, looking utterly bored, “How droll. What if I had been a student?”

Snape’s eyes glittered in anger and suspicion, “Rumor was you were dead.”

“Grossly overstated I’m afraid.” He looked around the room, the picture of ease. Unlike Snape, he did not have to put much effort into the sneers and airs. Regulus had been bred to be aristocratic and pompous and found very little difficulty in navigating those waters. He also, unlike Snape, had little to prove to anyone else. He was a Black by blood and none should ever forget that.

He turned back to the man before him, taking in the dark circles and hunched shoulders. Guilt and anger draped over him like a cloak. This man held no allegiance to Albus Dumbledore and perhaps no longer to Tom Riddle. What had changed his mind? The Potters’ death? Snape had been teased/tortured for his affection for the Lady of the House. Had that affection been deeper than portrayed?

He sat down, taking his time to sweep dust off his robe and purse his lips at imaginary grime. Like a cornered animal, Snape snarled first, “What are you doing here, Black?”

“Same as you, I imagine. Hiding from the backlash of rash decisions.” He let his mark show, a subtle reminder that they made the same mistake, but he still looked at him as if he were lesser. He certainly had enough practice for it with his mother’s looks at Sirius. “Where else to find sanctuary but the bleeding heart of Albus Dumbledore?”

Snape sneered and he offered a bland raised eyebrow. “I would think a Black that faked his death could find better places to hide.”

“Nothing that serves my needs.” He studied him for a long moment before continuing, “Although I do have passage to America with lodging and a guaranteed income. Seems a shame to put it to waste.”

Suspicion grew deeper as he connected the dots. Regulus had expected a Death Eater to fall into Dumbledore’s camp eventually. All the better that it was Snape. This was a man that would rankle against the manipulations of Albus Dumbledore and take any opportunity to be rid of them. 

“Yes, a shame.” He wouldn’t bite, not without knowing the catch. Smart of him, given Regulus was the one offering.

“I could be persuaded to hand it over if someone were to leave tonight, no questions asked. I would even offer an untraceable portkey that they could program themselves for discretion about the whereabouts of this deal.” It was a tantalizing offer, one that came with just one stipulation, don’t ask why. He could see the debate warring through Snape, deciding whether to take the offer at face value or satisfy his curiosity.

“That would be a fantastic deal.”

Regulus did not allow himself to smile. Instead he held out a dinner plate, “The word to activate is ‘sanctuary’. Enjoy America.”

Part of him, one cultivated by a mischievous older brother, wished he had set the coordinates to South America instead of North, to remind Snape that pranking went beyond the marauders. But he needed Snape to owe him more than the desire for some lasting vengeance on Sirius’ behalf.

Regulus did not wait for a response, slipping through the halls and out onto the grounds without incident. He anticipated Dumbledore reaching out by the end of the week if Snape followed through with this lifeline. With any luck, the headmaster would be left in the dark with mere guesses at what changed his pet spy’s mind. Of course, Dumbledore was no fool, Regulus would be closely watched through his tenure. That suited him just fine. This way, Dumbledore owed him, not the other way around.

Stopping just inside the boundary line, he raised an eyebrow at the innocent kneazle waiting for him. He rolled his eyes, “I told you to wait at the house.”

Hannah blurred into appearance, staying outside Hogwarts grounds and outside the headmaster’s view, “I’m rubbish at orders.”

“Clearly.” He stepped next to her and they enjoyed the ambling walk to Hogsmeade. He had no desire to rest.

“Well don’t leave me guessing. How’d it go?” She was bouncing on the balls of her feet, exuding life even as she restrained herself. How did one that endured a worse childhood than his still have so much joy to give away?

“The position had already been filled, but I suspect it will be vacant again by the end of the day.” Overall they were in a good place to get what they wanted. Narcissa agreed to stay in hiding for at least another month, to allow the fervor to die down and to slip back quietly into her life. Regulus had several plans to make a commotion to cover her entrance back into society if needed.

Hannah waved aside his comment, “Not that. Did the codgy headmaster believe you about Sirius?”

He knew that’s what she had been asking, but he hadn’t wanted to delve into it. Still didn’t, “We have to have patience with this.”

“So no. Or did you chicken out?” He stopped abruptly, letting out a huff of annoyance. She looked at him, her amusement dropping at whatever expression showing on his face, “Reg?”

“Dumbledore believes him guilty, and I’m sure me by association. After all, Dark wizards are always evil. And I am a Black and a Slytherin. Three marks against me.” The sudden urge to sow chaos welled up and he shot a nasty spell at a nearby tree, watching in cleave in two.

A hand wrapped around his arm, covering the mark, hiding the blackness in his own soul. How did he end up a free man when his brother wasted away in nightmares? Hannah kept her grip on him while he took several deep breaths, going through the blasted calming exercise his mind healer suggested, “I should be doing more.”

“I’m all for a prison break, but you’re the one being all rational,” she teased, but let the humor drop quickly, “We’re getting him out, I swear it.”

Glancing up at the sky, taking several more breaths, he focused on the here and now, on the hope that the stubborn bullish attitude of Sirius would maintain him in Azkaban. If anyone could survive out of pure spite, it would be his brother, “Why are you here, Hannah? You could go anywhere. You’re free.”

She grinned, bright and young, “Nowhere else is this exciting. Now treat me to this butterbeer you boast about.”

With that, the oppressive weight lifted to manageable terms. Her grip shifted to hook in his arm, never letting the touch fade. They would get Sirius out, they would burn Voldemort to the afterlife, the days of dark and grim were fading. It was this generation’s turn to change the world. The abused, the forgotten, the mistreated would no longer linger in the shadows as the world tore itself apart. He adjusted his stance and squeezed her hand as they walked into town.


	10. Undeserved Kindness

“You must not lose your temper, Regulus. This trial is paramount to your reintroduction into society,” Narcissa schooled him as she took in his formal attire, eyes narrowing at the slightest thing out of place. 

Regulus gave her a bland look, twirling his wand with an incantation to style his hair. “I’m aware of the importance of this trial.”

She did not appreciate his tone apparently, walking over to him and adjusting his collar with a not-so-gentle tug. “And you must keep your head about your brother. They will be hunting for any weakness and he is your weakness.”

“Anything else?” he drawled, allowing his tone to convey just what he thought of her incessant nagging. 

Hannah offered her own thoughts from an armchair by the fire, “You look like a stuffed doll, Reggie.”

She merely grinned at his glare, immune to his wrath. How annoying. “Thank you so much for that delightful insight, Lady Sayre. If that is all, I do believe I should go.”

“Don’t be a prat,” she cheerily said in response. Narcissa pursed her lips, refusing the draw to roll her eyes at them.

Without further commentary, Regulus went through the floo to the Ministry, where Albus Dumbledore was waiting for him. As predicted, Snape had taken the bait for a new life without strings, leaving the Headmaster short one potion teacher. While Regulus was far from ideal due to his age and background, he was willing and available. He was also rolling in galleons, allowing Dumbledore to reduce his pay to insulting levels. 

“Regulus, my dear boy, right on time.” He ushered him into an elevator, “There are a few trials prior to yours, you will be alright in the hall, I presume?”

“Of course,” he said coolly. He would not allow the fear and hesitation to show in any facet of his person. He was a Slytherin, a Black, and would not permit any in this farce of a government see the desperation.

Dumbledore studied him briefly, parting his lips to speak before shaking his head and entering the Wizengamot. Regulus did not sit in the benches that lined the hall. They were technically for witnesses and others, not accused. He wasn’t entirely sure how the Headmaster convinced the Wizengamot to forestall an arrest, but thankful nonetheless. Aurors watched him from the corner of their eyes, even though he had to surrender his wand at the front.

Unfolding the Prophet he brought with him, Regulus looked the picture of ease as he perused the drivel that passed as news. His eyes narrowed at the snarling picture of Bellatrix. Apparently she had been caught after condemning Alice and Frank Longbottom to insanity via cruciatus. A shudder ran down his spine, trembling at the memory of the curse. How long had the young couple lasted before their minds broke?

“Regulus Black?” His eyes flicked up to the Auror in silent question, “You’re next. Prepare for your trial.”

A few people beside him startled, but he paid no attention, nodding to the Auror and returning to the paper. Whispers rippled out around him and he adjusted his position, keeping his back to the wall and the Aurors in sight.

“Regulus Black?” This came from a man with red hair to his right. He raised his eyebrow in question, refusing to move far from the slim protection he found, “You’re the Turncoat?”

“The what?” The question fell from his lips without thought and he silently cursed himself. Hadn’t Narcissa just lectured him on keeping a tight reign on his emotions? This was shaping up to be a disaster.

“That’s uh, what the Prophet called the Death Eater that, you know, turned against him.” He waved at the paper in Regulus’ hands.

Of all the idiotic names, he let out a huff of breath. “I suppose I should be grateful it lacks hyphens.”

The man, a Prewett with his brother beside him, snorted, “I suggested The-One-Who-Turned, but it wasn’t accepted.”

His brother rolled his eyes but gave an easy grin, sticking his hand out to shake, “Gideon Prewett. This is Fabian. We’ve got you to thank for saving our hides earlier this year.”

Regulus searched his memories for the specific battle. They had all blurred at one point, the names and places eclipsed by the failure of saving his own brother. “I merely served as a distraction.”

“Sometimes that’s all that’s needed to turn the battle,” Fabian said with a shrug. His right arm was in a sling, possibly an injury from the battle, Regulus really couldn’t remember much. Seeing his blatant curiosity, the redhead gave a grim smile, “Doesn’t mean you always leave unscratched though. Relearning spells is a small price to pay.”

Escaping death left you with scars, visible or not. He did not know how to act around these obvious Gryffindors, these people who shone so bright, who seemed to never know the lure of the Dark. He cursed how small it made him feel. He would try though, for Sirius’ sake, for the promise he made when he realized he was on the wrong path.

With deliberate care, Regulus folded up the paper and turned fully toward Gideon and Fabian, “You two were holding them off pretty well on your own.”

“Years of pranking done right,” Gideon smirked, “Never let our sister know.”

“What made you turn?” Fabian seemed to be the quiet, more serious of the twins, despite the slight quirk of his eyebrow that gave him a constant mischievous look. Perhaps it was the injury that attributed to his more solemn outlook. Given the concerned looks his twin gave, it was not usual.

“It’s both simple and complicated. Simple that I finally realized my brother was right, that the insufferable halfblood declaring blood purity was intent on destruction. Complicated in ways I am still discovering.”

They both twitched at the blase mention of Sirius, but Regulus gave them a dull look, as if he didn’t notice their discomfort. A woman near them, clearly listening in, invited herself in the conversation, “Sirius Black is a traitor.”

His look grew dark and scathing as he turned to the woman, McKinnon, if he wasn’t mistaken. Apparently the Headmaster was pulling in quite a few of his ‘rescues’ to testify his innocence. No matter, Regulus would refute the claim of his brother’s guilt to any and all, “How strange. I must have imagined him turning back on his family to go to Potter. I must have dreamed the day he finally had enough of our mother’s torture to the waiting arms of his new family. After all, the evidence of hearsay is watertight.”

Thankfully, he was called to the chamber before he could utter something else he would regret later. Verbal battles were exactly the type of thing his cousin had warned him to avoid. It would not do him nor Sirius any good to argue with the foolhardy. He would state that it would, at the very least, sow the seeds of doubt, but Narcissa apparently deemed those as fruitless.

The Wizengamot was in full force today, going through endless trials of Death Eaters. He ambled to the accused chair, making no gesture to fight as the manacles latched onto his arms and legs, doing his best not to feel the fingers of Inferi clawing at him. Regulus had to portray confidence and regret, a fine line that showed he paid his debts in war, that he is not worth their time. He could not do this in the throes of panic.

There were several wand blasts to call the court to order, several wizards trying to set the tone, trying to hide their astonishment at him living. Regulus knew this would be a hard battle, worse than the ones he fought in the war. The Dark would see him as a traitor, eager to throw him into Azkaban for his cowardice. The Light would never accept him as a savior, ready to believe him evil by virtue of the mark and his name.

Albus cleared his throat once the crowd settled, “The accused is here on accounts of treason, murder, and conspiracy. The defense has brought in several witnesses. Let us proceed.”

Regulus attempted to straighten more than he already was. Narcissa and he had spent countless hours preparing his defense, going over everyone in the Wizengamot, who the hard sells would be and when to apply the carrot or the stick.

They forgot to take into account Albus Dumbledore. How foolish.

Instead of calling for his defense, for his statement, the Chief Warlock brought in all the witnesses and appointed two wizards to speak on the opposing sides. Regulus might as well have not been here. He ground his teeth in frustration, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the chair. 

Ever the chess master, Dumbledore worked the Wizengamot skillfully. By the time the verdict came around, he had gotten exactly what he wanted, Regulus in his supposed debt while both sides felt thoroughly chastised and reluctantly agreed. The chains slipped from him and he stood, looked haughtily around the chamber, then swept out as a free man. 

First order of business, retrieving his wand from the front, ignoring the sneers and glares sent his way. He was immensely grateful that his trial occurred in the middle of the session, so that there were no doddering old fools or malicious purebloods lurking in the halls. 

“Black!”

There were still foolish Gryffindors apparently. With barely a sigh, Regulus stopped at turned towards the eager Prewett twins and a reluctant McKinnon, “Yes?”

“We’re heading to the Leaky Cauldron, we’ll buy you a round to celebrate.” Gideon smiled as if his face may unhinge, his joy oddly placed. He didn’t trust it.

“You want to celebrate a Death Eater walking free?”

The twist of McKinnon’s lips and the faltering of the fake joy told him he hit the right spot. He had no room for false companionship. Fabian stepped forward in his brother’s faltering, “We don’t know you. We don’t know how you ended up in his clutches or why you repented. The war is over. We’d like to put that ignorance in the past.”

“I am not someone looking for pity nor do I want your acceptance. I made my choices, however ill, and will live with those regardless of your extension of friendship.” Nor was he in the mood to celebrate as he brother languished in Azkaban. Faking good cheer seemed altogether impossible at this venture.

Unfortunately, these were Gryffindors, not Hufflepuffs he could scare off nor Ravenclaws he could rationalize away. Gideon grinned, “No pity, can’t guarantee acceptance either. Just really good firewhisky.”

Was this what drew Sirius to Potter? Such blatant friendship and bold kindness, unlooked for in a world of shadows and war. He bowed his head for a moment before allowing himself to show an ounce of gratitude at their insistence, “Perhaps another time. Having been declared dead for two years has left me with quite a bit of paperwork.”

Regulus didn’t know if they would offer again, but he would take it, just as a tribute to his brother and those idiotic Gryffindors that, at the very least, had honor in death. But for now, he fled the undeserved kindness and the open curiosity. At least until he returned home to find banners and a feast and Hannah waiting to pounce. 

Perhaps this kindness was not so terrible.


	11. Teaching at Hogwarts

Regulus Black expected a lot of things in becoming a teacher. He expected prejudice and sneers. He expected to work for respect he deserved from teachers and students alike. He expected incompetence from the incumbent Potions professor, Horace Slughorn.

None of that compared to being utterly blindsided by staff meetings.

Dumbledore sat at the head of the table in eye watering robes, as if he could induce cheer through clashing colors and hideous colors. To his right sat McGonagall, prim, proper, stern. She settled a narrowed glare at any insistence of disruption. The heads of houses sat closest to Dumbledore with the rest of the staff scattered around the table. No one looked his way as he sat beside Professor Kettleburn, clearly uncomfortable but unwilling to acknowledge his presence. At least his old Care of Magical Creatures teacher seemed fine with him.

“Got a set of nifflers in today. You always had a way with them, mind helping me wrangle the boisterous ones?” He asked, his voice quiet as conversation flowed over them. Regulus merely nodded, unwilling to speak and draw attention just yet. While he was here on Dumbledore’s orders, he was not an idiot to alienate his peers in this decision. His then teachers were his coworkers now and he had every intention to have a good working environment.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and began the meeting. “Thank you everyone for being here so timely. I have a few announcements and then you can be on your way to the winter holidays. We will have two new staff members starting next fall. Regulus Black will be working with Horace this year and I believe will be an excellent addition to our staff.”

He paused there, whether for applause or effect was unclear. When there was no other reaction but pained silence, he continued merrily, “Unfortunately Professor Clay has said he will be unable to return as our Defense professor next term. A Ministry replacement will be here a week before the Spring term starts. I will be finding a replacement as soon as possible.”

No one batted an eye at that either. Defense against the Dark Arts was obviously a cursed position, one that had been cursed for so many years it was a wonder they still continued the class. Surely there were alternatives. Regulus shook his head. It was not time for him to make suggestions or demands. Narcissa’s nagging was on a constant loop in the back of his head. 

Dumbledore continued on for another thirty minutes, dragging out his ‘brief’ announcements with anecdotes and side stories. How on earth was any of this drivel relevant to the teaching staff?

“And thus we should all keep in mind that each of these children have hope and magic we can never reach and should strive to cultivate it.” He clapped his hands, somehow signaling the end of the meeting.

Kettleburn chuckled beside him, scars on his face twisting and marring what should have been a grin, “Come look at the nifflers, it’ll get your head on straight after staff meetings.”

“That was absolutely absurd. I thought the nonsense Dumbledore spewed at students was confined to his students.” Regulus stood with everyone else, falling in step with Kettleburn on their way to the grounds.

“I think he enjoys mystifying people, but Albus is an intelligent man and that should not be forgotten. He truly believes the kids in this school are our best future. Tends to gloss over the fact that they can be our worst nightmare too.” He stopped outside, taking a fortifying breath of crisp air, then hobbled down to the clearing dedicated for classes. It was near Hagrid’s hut, who gave them a cheery wave, forgetting he had dead game in his hand.

Regulus took a moment to soak it in, this moment that was so ordinary, so common during his school days. He lurked on the grounds instead of the drafty halls, finding solace in the trees and grass. He never got caught out of bounds or hanging with servants or lesser teachers. That was beneath his pureblood upbringing. Perhaps that was the first nail in the coffin of his mother’s traditions.

They stepped up to three nifflers testing out an enclosure, desperate to get shiny things just out of reach. Regulus tested the boundaries, watching a large black male getting a paw or whisker out as he tried. Sneaky little bugger. “Rune boundaries may be more effective.”

“Blasted things won’t stay still long enough for me to move ‘em. Keep gnawing my watch off.”

Clearing his house ring from his hands, Regulus reached in the charmed cage and picked up the smallest one. It sniffed around his hands, stuck its nose in his sleeves for hidden goodies, then curled up for a nap in his warm hands. He sighed, letting himself relax at the simple trust of an animal. 

“Ack!” The niffler fell with an indignant squeak as Regulus ducked a diving owl. “What the- Bloody hell!”

“I got it.” With skill of an experienced handler, Kettleburn slipped on dragonhide gloves and snatched the demented bird by its extended talon, “Easy there. No, no. Easy.”

Regulus slunk bank, clapping a hand on his neck where a cut had formed. Was the owl known to him? Could you train owls to attack? “What was that about?”

Stroking its feathers, Kettleburn frowned, “Happens a lot with the war. Owls that become familiars then lose their witch or wizard. Makes ‘em mad. Don’t know why she targeted you.”

“Do you know who she belongs to?” A dangerous question. Perhaps the owl is out to kill every Death Eater she comes across. “I’d take her home if she wasn’t liable to kill me first chance.”

That earned him a chuckle, “I doubt she’d get yer mail to the right place either. There’s a few tricks to figure out familiars. Give me til the new year. I’ll take care of her. Family’s the best place after that.”

He nodded and took the opportunity to escape home himself. He had moved into the assistant’s quarters last week, listening to Horace Slughorn babble over the tragedy of losing young Severus, how such a bright mind would go to waste without his guidance. Regulus had never been a star student in potions, but he enjoyed the peace it brought. Well, peace outside Horace’s influence. 

The other professors steered clear of the newest Death Eater to be employed by Dumbledore. He walked in on quite a few whispered conversations to know exactly where he stood amongst his now peers, not that he had any hope for a fresh start. He didn’t blame them either. He most likely helped kill several of their students, the brand on his skin assured him of that.

He took one glance at the towering castle, his new home during the school year, and let it disappear with a pop. 

Where he landed was not exactly a welcome thought either. He looked at the lopsided home with trepidation. How had he convinced himself of this venture?

Red hair appeared up in the door. Oh yes. Sodding Gryffindors.

“Look what the kneazle dragged out.” Gideon grinned and held his hand out to shake. “If you waited five more minutes I would’ve won the pool.”

He raised an eyebrow but took his hand, “Should I come back then?”

That produced the desired result. With a laugh, Gideon dragged him inside where a gaggle of children, all sporting red hair, covered every surface. He blinked, momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of people. Fabian was suddenly at his side. 

“Glad you could join us, must be a trifle different from your house.”

It was legions different. Laughter and chatter spilled out from every corner. There was no orderly conversation or stiff backs. Adults and children alike were relaxed and comfortable, eager to talk and fill the space.

And in the space of a breath, Regulus found himself utterly endeared to the chaos, to the love that exuded from the very breath of those around him. Endeared and intimidated and overwhelmed.

“Thank you for inviting me.” His eyes flicked over to a young couple, clearly the parents of at least most of the redheads, the mother holding a young babe. Even from the doorway he could see the tension radiating from the young mom. His presence was tolerated here just as much as Hogwarts. 

“Molly! Arthur! Come meet the famous Turncoat.” Gideon waved the young couple over, but a boy, no more than 11, turned at the phrase, eyes wide and eager.

“You’re the Turncoat?? Wicked! Didja really call You-Know-Who a white bellied son of a motherless snake?” 

Regulus thought back to his battles. That didn’t sound like him. Perhaps the Prewett twins had modified some of his more crass insults. He smiled at the kid, determined to be on his best behavior, “I probably did. But you know the best insult I found?”

Molly, the obvious mother, tensed, but he leaned in conspiratorially, “Calling him Tom.”

“Tom?” The boy frowned, unsure how that was even an insult, but Regulus gave a regal nod.

“It’s his name. But he changed it, for who could really be afraid of a man named Tom?”

Instant connection. The boy lit up, gave a quick, “I gotta go tell Charlie,” then ran off. Regulus took a breath and faced the matriarch. 

Thankfully her husband strode forward, extending his hand, “Arthur Weasley. You’ve met my oldest, Bill. This here’s my wonderful wife Molly.”

He bowed his head in respect, despite her still tense stance, “Thank you for the invitation. I know bringing a former Death Eater in your home was not a decision made lightly.”

Molly sniffed and held her head high, “You saved my brothers, but don’t take that to mean I trust you.”

“Molly!” Gideon hissed, but Regulus waved him off, not insulted in the slightest. At least she was honest. Must have been a lion as well.

“I would not deserve that trust. Taking the mark, no matter what some claim, is a willing choice. I knew the consequences and still took it.” He did his best to ignore the stares and silence, plowing on, borrowing some of their famed bravery, “Should you wish it, I can go.”

She pursued her lips, clearly tempted, “I made too much food. Besides, Charlie and the rest of the kids are going to want to meet you. Arthur, keep our...guest company, would you?”

With a sharp turn, she walked to the kitchen, two children clamoring for attention at her ankles. Arthur gave a sheepish grin and the twins were frowning. Regulus shrugged.

A young woman with bright blonde hair and a distant gaze approached him before anyone else could talk. She gave him a long look and even longer blink before saying in a whimsical voice, “You have a Limb Noblin on your arm, did you know that?”

Regulus frowned, eyes darting to his left arm where the Dark Mark was hidden. She smiled, “I could remove it for you if you’d like?”

“You could?” It was too much to hope to be removed from the brand, from the manifestation of his worst mistakes. He had been running out of ideas to get rid of it. Perhaps he needed a… less traditional outlook.

“Well, only if you are completely dedicated to have it gone. Noblins are notoriously stubborn.” She gave another blinding grin.

“Darling, we should be returning home.” A man with just as bright hair and a baby in his arms wrapped an arm around his wife, glaring at Regulus as if he caused the commotion. 

The woman leaned into him, cooing at the child, “Of course. Meet me later Regulus.”

He blinked and she was gone, like some sort of hallucination. Stress perhaps. Maybe that owl that dive bombed him had some poison on its claws. Gideon clapped him on the back, breaking his stupor, “And that would be the lovely Pandora Lovegood. Everyone gets that dazed look in their eye after meeting her. Shake it off and come meet the rest of the Weasley and Prewett clan!”

The next few hours were spent with a dizzying amount of names and people who all seemed more boisterous and loud than the last. It made Regulus’ head spin to see a family, a pureblood family, talk and shout and forgo any sense of manners. It was freeing and disorienting and some small part of him that lingered on since childhood yearned for this sort of family. 

When it was finally polite, he excused himself and escaped to the quiet Moor Estate, grateful for the space to breathe and think. It was such a clashing atmosphere that it took Regulus several moments to realize there was something deeply wrong in the silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a headcanon the Weasleys adopt everyone. And Harry isn't the only one in desperate need of family. Regulus needs all the hugs, even if he does grump at them.


	12. Draco Black

Regulus pulled out his wand, a trickle of dread crawling down his spine. He moved through the house like a ghost, pale and silent. He finally stumbled upon life when he nearly tripped over Hannah in the hall. There was a brief flash of panic over her being dead before she grunted and stood. Fears abated even more as he took in her anger and grief. She was not scared, no imminent threat to deal with. 

Before he could demand what was going on, she dragged him into the study, “Where the bogs have you been? You were meant to be home hours ago! I can’t deal with this. I ain’t got the right temperament for upset ladies.”

“What?” He frowned, trying to race through the possible options, “What happened?”

“Men are so useless,” she hissed, “Your cousin was coming back from the dead? Her going back home? That ring any bells?”

He blinked. Yes, he knew Narcissa had planned on approaching Lucius today. There had been no foreseeable problems with it. Unlike him, she had no criminal record and it was clear she had left to protect her child. Even Death Eaters would have excused her cowardice for the protection of an heir. He had offered to be there with her during the reunion, to offer protection and smooth things over. Narcissa had claimed she would do it alone.

“I offered to go with her and she refused. What happened?” he asked again, annoyed by Hannah’s vague threats.

“The great sot remarried. That’s what happened!” 

It took two seconds for the information to sink in and process, then alarm and concern grew, “Did he harm Narcissa? Is she hurt?”

“Course she’s hurt! Her husband married a blimp and had the gall to suggest her joining them!” In her anger, Hannah fell back into several colorful gaelic curses. Regulus lurched for the door until she grasped his arm, “She doesn’t want to see anyone.”

“I’ll handle her wrath. Ask Tippy to make tea.” He got out of her grip and straightened his clothes. He strode over to the door, knocked twice, then entered before Narcissa had a chance to deny him.

She was not the weepy mess Hannah had portrayed, though in hindsight, Regulus could not see Narcissa ever being a weepy mess, much less due to one Lucius Malfoy. Instead, she was calm and collected and pulling on her winter coat. She offered a pointed look and raised eyebrow to convey just what she thought of his intrusion and pulled on her gloves.

“As long as you’re here, you can accompany me to the country estate. Go fetch Draco.”

He frowned, studying her closely. He could see the anger in her sharp movements and the fragility in her tense posture, but comment at his own risk. Still, what did he have to lose, “The country estate?”

She gave an off put sigh, as if dealing with an exceedingly slow child, “I must speak with Grandfather to annul my marriage. Draco will be a Black. Lucius can attempt an heir through the harpy he has chosen.”

“Of course.” That sounded so logical, as if she was not cutting off from the man she pledged to just a few years ago, as if she was not making the first huge decision for her. For Draco. Rather than talk her in or out of the course of action, he stepped over to where Draco was playing. He scooped him up, ignoring the grabby hands and giggles.

Narcissa nodded and took a deep breath. With a quick word to Hannah, they went through the floo to the Black Estate.

It had been years since Regulus last stepped foot in the country manor that his grandfather preferred. It must have been Sirius’ heir ritual when he was here last. Nevertheless, it had not diminished in grandeur. Unlike the house he grew up in, this house did not have pain clinging to the shadows. It was everything the Black’s were meant to be: proud, regal, pure.

Overall, the aesthetic of the home was neutral, with greys accented by green and silver and blue. This house was not drab, but sparkling and well tended. Secrets still whispered from nooks and crannies, but they were not malicious towards him. A house elf greeted them in the lobby, taking their coats and announcing their arrival to the head of house. 

Regulus focused on entertaining Draco. He had not spoken with his grandfather since Sirius’ arrest. There was still anger rolling under his skin as he thought of all the inaction done by previous generations. He held onto the bitter thought that all the death and pain could have been avoided had someone, anyone, had done something.

They were led to a small parlor and Narcissa dropped in a formal curtsy, setting the tone for this meeting. Regulus stayed behind her, determined not to speak unless absolutely necessary.

“I apologize for this intrusion Grandfather. I assure you I would not interrupt your time unless it was of the utmost importance.”

He waved aside her protocol and bade them sit. Again, Regulus took the seat that indicated he was here only on Narcissa’s request. Narcissa perched on the sofa, letting her hands and gaze fall to her lap. Her fear was momentary as she lifted her chin and recalled her Black heritage.

“I must request you dissolve my marriage with Lucius,” she said, no waver in her voice, “He has broken oath and married another. While my death was considered absolute, he refused to reject this woman when I approached him. I will sever ties and raise Draco as befitting a Black.”

In true Slytherin fashion, Arcturus Black focused on his granddaughter for several long moments before producing quill and parchment, “You wish Lucius have no contact with Draco?”

There was a breath of relief while Narcissa nodded, “I will not have my son associate with a man who demeans his wife in such a way. To think I would join a multiple marriage household. As if I would allow my husband to cheat legally.”

Regulus could not stop the stray thought that wondered if it would matter if it was done in secret instead. He shook his head, then scowled as Draco grabbed loose strands of his hair. 

“The contract is clear enough that there will be no issue dissolving the marriage. We will obtain the funds he received as dowry and remove support. Lucius Malfoy will not find friends amongst the Blacks and will be cast out from Great Britain.” There was a satisfied gleam in Arcturus’ eye as he made plans to bring him down. The Black family was not known as ruthless by chance or luck. By the time this was over, Malfoy would be a ruined household.

“No.” 

Regulus risked a glance at his cousin, surprised to see how calm and relaxed she was. The tension had dropped from her shoulders and a weight had disappeared. She almost had a smile at the confusion from the one word.

“I will not ruin him,” she said, “He will do that himself. I want what is my due and then we will wash our hands of this. What he does beyond that is his doing.”

“If he comes after you…” His grandfather started.

“Then you have every right to retaliate, but this is a simple dissolution of marriage and claims to Draco. Nothing more, nothing less.” She held his gaze until he relented, drawing up the paper. Regulus silently applauded her backbone.

Before too long, they were heading back home. Narcissa held out her hands for Draco, pleased that the Black family magic accepted him. “Thank you, Grandfather. We’ll come by for our usual tea next week.”

“Of course. Do not hide should Lucius cause any distraction.” He led them to the floo, giving Regulus a false hope of leaving, “Regulus, I would speak with you before you leave.”

Narcissa gave him an apologetic glance but he shook his head. He knew this was a possibility when he agreed to come with her. He would have to face the consequences of his harsh truth sooner or later. He had only hoped to deal with it after his grandfather’s death. She said her goodbyes and disappeared in the floo. Regulus turned towards his grandfather.

“What can I do for you, Grandfather?” He kept his back straight, his hands clasped behind him. He would not take back his words, he would not let go of his anger.

“This petty tantrum is unbecoming. I understand you are young and impatient. You want results now, but the world does not work that way.” He made an attempt to move back to the study, to lengthen this conversation more than necessary. Regulus stayed resolutely by the floo.

“Impatient, am I? I think I have been exceedingly patient for action that has never shown itself.” He said coolly, calling to mind the breathing exercise the mind healer suggested. It was producing poor results.

“Rash actions led to Sirius’ arrest. It’s unfortunate, but-”

“Enough.” He would not stand in this house and discuss Sirius. Not with the man before him, not as if he had no ability to change his fate. “Let us discuss what led us to today rationally as you so wish. Twenty two years ago, the Black family saw the birth of its heir. Granted his lineage had left a sour taste, first cousins and all, but a celebration nonetheless, followed swiftly by another male. And for eleven years, those boys were raised by an insane mother who believed in physical punishment and mental torture. After all, boys were to be silent, proud, and devoted in every sense.”

It was easy to find the words, to speak with cold detachment, as if they were merely characters in a story and it was not his life he was describing. He continued before he lost his nerve, “Then the eldest went to school and discovered something miraculous: love, family, affection for nothing other than being himself. He found freedom. And in that, the brothers, the family was split. A gaping void stretched between them. Their mother, desperate to maintain her perfect family, did a desperate act; she cast Crucio on the young heir and finally drove him to the family he deserved.”

There was a sharp intake of breath but Regulus continued, “And so the young heir reacted and shoved away anything taught in the home, even if it meant self-preservation. Because what good is self-preservation if it turns you into that? And while all this happened, the world burned. Children were applauded as they went to war, to fight battles their parents had no courage to fight themselves.”

His calm mask was slipping as his hands shook. He had thought it justice when Sirius had been tortured. Regulus had endured one session with the Dark Lord already so why should his brother escape such torment? He was a bitter and hurting child, eager for others to be just as bitter and hurting. He wanted Sirius to understand. He wanted his brother to stay at his side, even as they fought for different ideals. 

But Regulus was no longer that scared child, the one bleeding all over the carpet for Tom Riddle to see. A year of mind healing had allowed him to see not only his own faults and wounds, but the insanity that claimed to be family. It was too late to reconcile, to stitch back where it went wrong. They could only move forward with the broken pieces they had left. Regulus would not be trusting anyone but Sirius with secrets and hope and change. 

After several moments of silence, he finally looked at Arcturus’ pale shocked face. “So tell me, Grandfather, am I being too impatient? Am I being too rash? Or shall I wait for my own torture before I act as Sirius did?”

He did not wait for a response, unsure if he even wanted an apology or acknowledgment. He drew himself up and flooed home. He ignored the looks Narcissa sent his way or the questions Hannah peppered him with. He went straight to his room and mourned the loss of childhood, of family, of any hope of healing.

Minutes or hours later, it was hard to tell in the stupor he fell in, a warm body slipped by his. Hannah’s small kneazle purred loudly, reverberating through his back until the shaking subsided enough for sleep to finally claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco Black is soooo much better than Draco Malfoy. Also, where were the adults in the first wizarding war??


	13. Muddying the Mark Pt. 1

Regulus awoke the next morning to a very unusual situation. Rather than her kneazle form, Hannah was curled up in his side, fingers clutching his shirt. A thin scar ran behind her right ear, normally hidden by her wild curls. He frowned at the thought of what could have caused that. 

It was strange, having another person so close. His mother ensured that touch of any kind was ruined for him. Touch meant pain. Touch meant punishment. It forced him to recede, to protrude an air of standoffish behavior for protection. Hannah must have similar experiences, though they never exchanged notes, yet she was always seeking comfort of presence and touch.

And he found he did not hate it.

It was one thing to find comfort in animals, to draw rest in the presence of her kneazle form. Even now though, he was strangely relaxed at her closeness. Regulus took a deep breath. He had no desire to push her away, even as her fingers stabbed him in the ribs and her nails scraped along his skin. He shifted, letting her fall more easily into his side.

Closing his eyes, Regulus allowed the peaceful moment to settle over him, focusing on her steady breathing and the warmth in his side. All too quick, she stirred, pulling away and stretching. He looked at her with a smirk, “Comfortable?”

“Your bed’s softer than mine. I think Tippy hates me.” Bleary-eyed, she sat back on her legs, taking stock, “Not angry that I stayed?”

He assessed that question, turning over the possibilities, then allowed his smirk to melt into something a bit more genuine, “It was kind of you. I was not in a right state of mind last night.”

“Yeah, what was that? Cissy said your gramps was poking at old wounds, then told me to leave it.” she shrugged, fixing her shirt to fully cover her midriff, “Obviously, I didn’t listen.”

“Wizarding society as a whole believes that doing nothing will ensure prosperity, that the only course of action to preserve our culture is inaction.” He sighed, unwilling to rehash his personal history again, “My grandfather and I simply had a disagreement over that point.”

She gave him a look that said she clearly knew better, but didn’t press as she asked, “What’s the plan for today?”

“I met someone yesterday that implied she could remove the Dark Mark. I plan on calling her today.” Her hand was close to his as she leaned in and he could not resist the urge to take it in his, marveling at how small and warm she was.

“That’s good right?” She grinned, ridiculously chipper simply because this was a task that made him happy, squeezing the hand that held her captive. 

“Perhaps. She is undoubtedly insane and could be lying.”

Hannah shrugged, “Sometimes the mental people have the best solutions.”

He hummed, unwilling to argue for or against the idea. Pandora Lovegood certainly saw the world through her own beliefs, but he was running out of options to remove the stain on his arm. He needed it gone. With one last squeeze, Hannah pulled away from him to get out of bed. The ache of the sudden loss had him grabbing her wrist.

“Stay.”

He shouldn’t have asked. How utterly needy of him. He should have pushed her away when he awoke, sent her to her own room, despised the comfort she brought him. And yet, Regulus could not deny the peace and happiness he found in her presence, nor did he want to. He wanted the peace to last. He wanted the joy and distraction to linger. 

Hannah gave him a sad smile and stood from the bed, offering some solace by not addressing his obvious lapse in sanity, “Think Cissy knows I stayed?”

“Does it matter?”

“She’ll make a stink. All that society protocol rot.”

Regulus shook his head with an amused smile, “We are both adults and unmarried. While people would frown on flaunting it, they would never discourage the behavior should it remain quiet.” He got up and stepped close to her, heartbeat thrumming under his skin, sudden desire robbing him of thought for a moment. But this was Hannah, and he was not that person, “Regardless, nothing happened. Narcissa knows the state I was in last night and knows your bleeding heart would seek to comfort.”

Her gaze met his, indecision swirling in dark blue eyes, before she stepped back, “I’m going to go eat.”

And in a blink, she was gone. The room cold in her wake. With a shake of his head, Regulus put it out of his mind and went in search of Pandora Lovegood.

That was not as difficult as he would have believed. The Lovegoods were neighbors to the Weaselys, though he was grateful to note that their home was not the semistable structure their neighbors preferred. 

It seemed an ordinary cottage in the country, utterly quaint and normal, unbefitting the woman he met yesterday. Lingering outside the door for longer than necessary, Regulus raised his hand to knock.

Before flesh could meet wood, the door opened and he was once again greeted with the unusual woman, “Hello dear. Just in time, my husband’s out searching for Varyveets.”

He blinked and she danced inside, singing a song to the baby in a small bassinet decorated with flowers and shells. His feet were lead as he crossed the threshold and he ignored the screaming voice of his mother describing all the reasons he should not be in this house. 

“You said you could remove the brand?”

She beamed at him, waving her hands at the kitchen table, which had been painted with various creatures he was sure did not exist. Stepping over a stack of mosaic tiles left precariously in the middle of the floor, he sat at the colorful table. 

Finishing her song, she danced over to him, “My daughter’s name is Luna. Her name was given so she may reflect the shining brightness of good. But it will be dark nights while the son of virtue hides. You’ll find him for her, won’t you?”

What did one say to that? None of the lessons his mother and aunts taught him had prepared Regulus for this sort of encounter. Agreeing seemed the best course of action, “Yes ma’am.”

She tilted her head for a moment, then smiled, “Yes, you will. Let me see the Limb Noblin?”

He rested his left arm on the table, rolling up the sleeve until the offending mark was shown, leaching in darkness despite its dormant state. Despite his best efforts, the mark and skin around it was intact and unmarred. Pulling her wand from her hair of all places, Pandora poked the mark, making his fingers twitch.

She poked it again, hummed, then stood and grabbed a journal from under a pot in the kitchen. There were several moments of silence as she flipped through the pages and she let out an anguished cry.

“What is it?” he asked through clenched teeth. Perhaps this was a mistake after all. 

Pandora turned large sad eyes to him, “I thought it was a Limb Noblin, but now I see it is clearly a Soul Leech. Those creatures feast on your magical core and are impossible to remove. To be free of it, you must kill the source, and I have not the tools to do such a thing.”

Translating that into logical words, Regulus felt his horror grow. In taking the mark, he had somehow signed a binding contract with Tom Riddle. His magic was now under his authority. It explained so much. How the mark burned when Riddle was angry, how difficult it was to disobey, to argue against him. How even now his magic was not at its fullest. Even worse, it was the only plausible explanation for Riddle surviving multiple horcruxes. He was stealing magic and life from his followers.

Bile rose up his throat with the desire to chop his arm off, to not look at the reminder ever again. That would solve nothing though, as the binding was resolute. He was stuck with this mistake until Riddle was finished for good.

Jerking his arm back, he forced out, “I’m working on it.”

A soft hand grasped his wrist, followed by a kind smile, “That is good. And I can still muddy the connection, if you wish.”

“How?”

Gently pulling his arm back, she let her fingers trace the mark, her eyes distant again, “Muggles call them tattoos, a very archaic term. I can build a … barrier of sorts. But,” she looked at him, piercing and knowing and warm, “it will not be pleasant. You must sit through several cleansing sessions and come back willing each time.”

In other words, lots of pain for a thin promise of protection. He wasn’t even sure what she was offering. Still, he nodded, “What do you need?”

With a smile, she conjured a small clay pot of ever-changing paint and a glinting needle. He did his best not to flinch as she guided his arm back to the table. 

“I cannot restrain you,” she said apologetically, “Nor can I dull its bite. This must be done in full surrender for maximum effect.”

“I understand.” He resolved not to scream or cry, not to wake the child that slept just meters away. If he could endure Crucio under Riddle, he could endure a few pinpricks.

Pandora lifted the needle, dipping it in the paint and then brought it over the right eye of the skull. Metal punctured flesh but Regulus hardly felt it. Instead, fire raced through his veins as the binding made itself known, suffocating him, forcing him to relive every atrocious act he did for the Dark Lord. 

A gasp tore through him, both of pain and shock, but he was relieved that was the only sound. This was worse than any Crucio or torture his mother invented. This was ice splintering in his veins and fire burning through his core. Another poke, another stab of pain and fear and death.

“Tell me of the lights in your life?” A voice of meadows and brooks and flowers washed over him, distracting him from the pain, “You have such precious few, but they burn so bright.”

“Sirius,” he panted, not needing any other explanation, “My brother. I didn’t… I did not know until he was gone how much he shone. He protected me. Fought for me. Then he was gone.”

“And you fought against him instead of with him.” Either guessing or knowing. Perhaps the visions that crowded him were real and she saw them too. His worst fight with Sirius, in the dark halls of Hogwarts, yelling at him and calling him everything his mother said, throwing back anger of being left alone. “The dark consumed you.”

At her words, Regulus felt the world slip away, only darkness and pain and betrayal left. He could not form words to bring the light back, to bring back hope, to remember the reason he was doing this. Thankfully, the voice of radiance continued for him, “But he never truly left.”

“No,” he croaked, remembering the chilling sensation as he faced the cave, as he faced death, the warmth of pleasing his brother enveloping him before the void took him. "He always believed the best in me."

Even at their worst, hurling insults and hexes, Sirius never gave up on him. Regulus could see that now, could see the anger and hurt and pain stemming from a source of love and care and fear. Fear for his life. Fear for going too far. And now Sirius was in prison, thinking his brother died for a worthless cause. 

"All is not lost. The grim and lynx will be reunited." The pain receded and he was back in the colorful house with the strange woman who spoke in riddles and mysteries. Needle and paint were gone and there was nothing to show the battle he just waged. Pandora smiled at him. The sun had begun to set and his body protested movement.

He looked at his arm, a small poppy bloomed in the right eye of the skull, fluttering in an unknown breeze. “You will have to come back a few more times, but not tomorrow or the next. The soul must recover before waging war again.”

Slipping his sleeve over his arm, he nodded, not looking forward to returning, “Thank you.”

“Thank yourself,” she said, pushing a glass of firewhiskey in his hands, “I am merely a funnel in which you are cleansing and protecting yourself. The barrier is only as strong as the one you want. Your desire is great.”

He downed the glass in one gulp, relishing the burn. “Still, thank you.”

Taking his thanks and his cup, she ushered him to the door, “Come again when it is time.”

Unwilling to spend another ounce of energy, Regulus apparated, grateful the wards allowed him to do so straight to his bed. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	14. Muddying the Mark Pt 2

“Tell me about this other light in your life,” a bubbling brook asked, it sighed and gurgled and washed over him, soothing the pain momentarily, allowing clear thought.

What else was there besides Sirius? Did Regulus have anyone else that could shine so bright it blinded him?

Unbidden, a kneazle dashed across his mind, leading to a broken frightened girl. 

“Hannah,” he whispered, his voice ragged and cracking. Had he been screaming?

“It’s a different light than your brother’s.” Pandora mused. A stab of pain in his arm, bearable, borderline annoying. 

That was such an understatement. Sirius was bright, harsh, cutting. He shone in every facet of his life; in friendship, in love, in anger, in hatred. He was a raging inferno, capable of burning those that came close as well as provide warmth to those far off. None could mistake just what he was capable of either. He did nothing to hide just where he stood in life.

Hannah was still warm, still bright, but calmer, balming, healing. She was a campfire on a cold night, a star to guide in a clear sky, a warm blanket wrapped tightly around and never letting go. With Sirius he could only take small doses before he had to hide and shut him out. Hannah was never like that. She moderated her warmth and love according to those around her.

“She sounds amazing.”

“Yes.” He could admit it here, where pain and death closed around him. Wasn’t that what people did when they were dying? Call to those they loved?

“Regulus, we’re done.”

He opened his eyes, unsure exactly when he closed them. The colorful kitchen and mismatched furniture focused and settled. Sweat stuck his clothes to his back and a cup of tea steamed in front of him. Drinking greedily, the ink on his arm caught his eye.

Bright, vivid wildflowers covered his arm, smothering what once was a stain on his skin. Some opened and closed, others moved as if a wind passed over them. The skull and snake were barely visible in the mess. According to Pandora, now that they were done, the image would shift and change according to his days. On those dark days, it could shift to prison bars and chains, on days of joy and laughter, flowers and animals would adorn his arm. It was more than he could have ever asked for.

“Thank you.”

She set another cup of tea in front of him and smiled softly, “As I said in the first session, this is entirely up to you. I merely babysit to keep things from exploding.”

“Still,” he drank his second cup slower, letting the pain ebb away, “I cannot repay you.”

Her eyes flashed silver for a moment and she shook her head, “You will not. But you will do enough through my daughter. I am content.”

“You’re a seer,” he guessed. It was a possibility as he waded through the odd comments she made and strange predictions of absolute certainty. 

“I see the world differently. After all, how boring to look at the world and see what everyone else sees.” She leaned forward, squinting at him, “Sometimes you’re a man, sometimes you’re not. But I like seeing those forms. You make a very handsome animal.”

With a jolt, Regulus realized she was discussing his animagus form. Just as he was about to demand what it was, she stilled him with a sharp look and even sharper words, “The truth is a bitter antidote few can swallow.”

Trepidation traveled down his spine, “And what truth would that be?”

She gave him a sad smile, one that only sharpened his fear, “You cannot save your brother. He is in Azkaban only as long as he wants.”

Anger replaced fear and he growled, not noticing the flowers wilting on his arm, reacting to his emotions, “That is ridiculous!”

Pandora was unaffected by his outburst, sighing as she studied the leaves in her cup, “What encourages him to leave? He believes his family dead, his godson cared for, his friends gone. And it was his plan that resulted in the Potter’s death, although fate would have taken them either way.”

Denial coursed through his veins, burning along with his anger at her words, at the implications of them. It wasn’t possible. He would save Sirius. He had to. Venom coated his words, “He does not belong in Azkaban.”

He would shout it from every rooftop and pub. He would march into the Ministry and grovel his life for his brother’s. Something had to work. While his grandfather and him had yet to reconcile, Regulus would use his contacts, his money, his influence to do what it takes. And if they demanded his life as payment, then it would be a small price to pay. 

“No,” she agreed, still calm, still quiet. “But neither do you.”

What a ridiculous sentiment. He was a Death Eater. He had believed Riddle’s cause was true. And while Regulus had never killed someone outright, his ideas, his research had led to the death of others. One moment in time, one moment of clarity on a godforsaken rock, could not erase the past.

He whirled to the door, done with the conversation, unwilling to give up hope, to give up on Sirius again.

“Regulus,” Pandora had not moved, but her voice was sad and burdened, as if the weight of the future threatened to crush her. He had no desire to hear more, but nevertheless, his hand lingered on the door handle. “You may drag the wolf to prey, but you cannot make him hunt.”

The door shut with more force than necessary on his way out.

Regulus knew she was right. And it stung. Not that failing to save Sirius wasn’t painful, but knowing that even if he could succeed, he would not be able to make Sirius do anything. His brother was stubborn and prideful. If he believed he deserved Azkaban, then nothing Regulus could do would get him out of there. 

It was not dissimilar to Sirius’ attempts to draw him to the light. The more he pulled, the more Regulus resisted. No. Regulus would not be able to drag him away if he felt he belonged there. A new tactic was needed. A new motivation for Sirius to live again. He had lost so much, his family, his light. He needed a reason to find new life.

Wandering back home, he mentally redid his plans. If he could not save Sirius at the moment, he would refocus back on horcruxes. Something he should have prioritized first he thought with some chagrin. 

“Reg! Reg!” 

He smiled at Draco, the toddler waddling to him with muddy hands. “Does your mother know you’re out here?”

The child pouted and it was all the answer he needed. Scooping him up, he carried him back to the playroom. Tippy wagged her ears, “Naughty master Draco! Yous know not to go out without Tippy!”

Leaving the recalcitrant child in the capable hands of an irate house elf, Regulus found Hannah in the library, wand stuck in her hair haphazardly. She was muttering under her breath as she read, absorbing the advanced wand theories like water in the desert. He watched from the doorway, refusing to believe he looked as soft as he felt. Blacks were not soft.

“Lurking in the door is creepy, Reggie,” she said, not looking up from the text.

“You’re going to set your hair on fire with the wand like that.” He pushed off the frame and came up behind her shoulder to see the book. She scoffed, but moved it to the holster on her arm he had given her for her birthday.

“Are you done?” She tossed the book away and yanked at his arm. Wincing, he looked at the mark. The flowers had wilted in his anger, the bushy tail of a fox barely peeking from behind the skull. A sunflower slowly bloomed in an eye socket. “Thought it’d be prettier.”

“I had a bit of a world shift,” he murmured, unwilling to go into details. But when she looked at him with kind eyes and gentle touches, it was hard not to open to her, “It reacts to emotion. And I left in anger.”

Her fingers traced the faint outline of the mark. At her touch, a fox chased around her finger and more flowers regained their color. She smiled, “Better.”

“I have one thing left before the term starts, will you come with me?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

He took her arm and they apparated first to Diagon Alley. The apparition points had been dismantled in the war, but they were slowly being put back up. As hope and peace settled in the war torn community, life began its normal pace. Hannah stared in open wonder at the mismash buildings, the crowds and magic filling the air. Hiding a grin, he led her to Ollivanders.

Here she halted, brain finally catching up with her, “Reg, I...I don’t need a wand.”

“My great-uncle’s is serviceable, but you will do better with one attuned to you. Come on.” His hands were gentle as he guided her in the store. Hannah needed a wand meant for her. She had been deprived of so much growing up and Regulus was determined to correct that.

“Regulus Black, what a surprise.”

He nodded to the odd man, not bothering to ask why it was a surprise. Ollivander was a very neutral person. His interests lay in wands, not sides or people. His sharp gaze fell on Hannah, “And who might this be?”

“Hannah Sayre.” she raised her chin, a spark of courage growing into a flame. “I need a wand.”

To his credit, he asked no questions as he began the measurements and swept into his shop for the perfect match, “Attuned to your magic, yes?”

She nodded and he laid out ten wands, “Normally I have the kids give it a good swish. You would do better with a scan. Wave you hand over these.”

Her hand barely twitched before he snatched them all away and set up more. They did that three times before Hannah stopped over a wand, her eyes growing wide. She picked up a wand with black wood and vine design. The air warmed around them and Regulus could feel her magic settling within her. Ollivander nodded.

“A tricky combination. Acacia wood and Effaret feather. It will serve you well.”

Hannah clutched it to her chest, “Thank you.”

After paying, they were dismissed and Regulus apparated them to the county before they went to their next stop. Hannah squeezed his arm, signaling him to stop, “Regulus, I don’t...I can’t…”

He smiled fondly at her, “Every child deserves a wand, deserves the chance to prove themselves. I am sorry it came to you so late.”

“It’s not like I knew it was missing before,” she muttered, eyes on her feet, fingers still gripping her new wand. “I can repay the galleons.”

He waved off her concern. He was rolling in money. A new wand was a drop in that bucket, “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Like that’ll stop you from getting me something else.”

“Glad we are in agreement,” he grinned, “Now I have one more stop, but I can take you home if you wish.”

That earned an eye roll as she readjusted her grip, “Let’s get on with it. I need a pint after all this spinning.”

He took her to a small muggle neighborhood where the houses all looked the same and where nothing ever special happened. The road was quiet even as people traveled home from work, but Regulus made sure they were well disguised regardless. If any muggles passed by, they should slide right over where they stood. Not that it mattered. They were currently in a hedge. 

“What the bogs, Reggie? If this is your idea of a date, you could use some pointers.”

He gave her a baleful glare and put a finger to his lips, whispering, “We’re just checking on my brother’s godson.”

Giving credit where it was due, Dumbledore had been smart in hiding the chosen one. It was a hassle tracking down one Harry Potter. While his name was plastered all over the papers, his location was not. Speculation had him in Hogwarts, in ancestral Potter home, in France. None of the Potter line were left to care for the child. The Longbottoms had been named as guardians briefly before Bellatrix had gotten ahold of the young couple. Everyone ignored Lady Potter’s muggle heritage.

Regulus was not like others though and had the tenacity of a bulldog with a bone. He would not rest until he was assured of the child’s safety. The thought of a mere babe surviving the killing curse with no lasting damage was impossible to believe. 

Casting a quick spell, he noted several enchantments around the house and gardens, keeping out unwanted visitors, the strongest of which sung with Lady Potter’s blood. Images of the confident redhead burned in his mind, her scrutiny, her assurance of his loyalty, her protection of Sirius. He would expect nothing but the best for her son and was not mistaken.

Like the fire called by her husband that day, would this barrier see him as friend or foe? He had to try. He had to make sure that Harry Potter was cared for until Sirius could step back into the boy’s life. He had to be sure Sirius had someone left.

Hannah said nothing as he stepped up to the barrier and then crossed it. For a brief moment, he thought he was safe.

Fire exploded down his left arm. 

Unsure if he screamed or not, Regulus was suddenly drawn back into the woods, panting and sweating. The mark on his arm burned black. Sodding Dumbledore put in a Death Eater ward. Or maybe something to reject Dark magic. He rolled over and heaved, but his stomach had nothing to expel.

“What were you thinking?” Hannah hissed, pulling him to her, checking over for any wounds. He looked back down at his arm. White lilies exploded over the mark, covering the painful reminder. A stag peeked out and blinked at him, one eye green, one eye hazel. Lilies for the mother’s protection, the acceptance of one ward. What the hell was the stag for?

“My apologies,” he managed to get out to Hannah, taking a deep breath to recover, “Underestimated the old fool.”

She muttered something under her breath, something uncomplimentary to him, he was sure. He looked back at the house and sighed. The only glimpse he could get of the child was in the arms of a shrill woman, presumably the sister. It would have to do for now, until he could get closer. 

“Let’s go home.”


	15. Not Quite the End

“Professor Kettleburn,” Regulus nodded to the man as he approached, bundled in winter gear and warming charms to keep off the chill of snow. The term had started last week and Regulus had been less than impressed with his ‘mentor’ Slughorn. He had no backbone and little to inspire. While he was a decent teacher, he doted on those with power and authority and left those struggling to fail. 

It surprised him how much he was looking forward to stepping into the role as teacher. There would be difficulties. The older students in Slytherin were distrustful and the other houses sneered. But the younger ones could still be molded to a different outlook. It would take time, but he could be patient.

“Not your professor anymore.”

“Old habits.” He stepped into the cozy sitting area. A snowy owl was perched in the corner and eyed him as he entered. “Have you found a home for the crazy bird?”

Probably shouldn’t insult said bird in its presence, but that blasted talon left a scar. He had every right to be bitter. Kettleburn gave a sad smile, “Funny you should say that.”

Regulus groaned and sank into the armchair offered, “Whose was it?”

He poured a shot of firewhiskey and handed it to him as he ran through a mental list of likely candidates, “Near as I can figure, she was the Potters. Bonded to James or Lily.”

Of bloody course. Regulus downed the shot, letting the burn force a cough up his throat. “Why isn’t she with the kid then?”

“Owl repelling ward?” He suggested. It made sense. The entire wizarding world was probably trying to send the poor boy gifts and gratitude. Not that Dumbledore had the authority to refuse him mail. He made a mental note to look into that. If anything, the mail should be stored until Harry could accept it.

“Can you repel familiars?”

“Sure, if they aren’t bonded with the one repelling them. And she wasn’t the lad’s.”

He looked over at the owl, which had yet to look away from him. This was going to be a mistake, “Will she come with me? I can care for her until the boy can have her.”

“She might,” he shrugged, then sighed, “Not sure how long she’ll live. With the loss of her bond, she’s weak. I’d guess a year at best. If you can get her in touch with Harry, it may be as long as three. Familiars don’t do well with broken bonds.”

It was the one thing that kept Regulus from finding a familiar, despite his love for animals. The bond shared between them would be great, but it often cost the animal its life. With war, he could not justify that cost. Now perhaps he could look into it again. 

“I’ll do my best.” They spoke of students and classes and the hope for the next holiday before Regulus bid him farewell and wandered through the halls. He ended up outside the Gryffindor Head of House’s quarters. 

He had successfully avoided Minerva McGonagall since his appointment. He had a brief meeting as she was deputy headmistress, but it was curt and professional. It had been too close to the Potters’ death, too close to grieving.

He could not avoid her forever. 

For the sake of professional relationships, he knocked on the door.

“Enter.”

Taking a deep breath, he straightened his shoulders and strode in the lion’s den. Minerva looked up from her papers but showed no other shock at his presence. She waved towards the plate of biscuits and made one more note on the parchment before turning her full attention to him.

“What can I do for you Regulus? Trouble with students?”

“Nothing I cannot handle.” He held his hands at his sides, in plain view to assure her he had not wand or ill intent. “I thought it prudent to clear the air between us before I took the full teaching position.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Was there something between us?”

What a Gryffindor attitude, to ignore the past, to pretend as if the war were nothing more than an inconvenience. Or perhaps she was doing her best to hold together in front of the students who had already lost so much.

Whatever the reason, he needed a different tactic, “Perhaps not. Allow me then, to offer my condolences. I know you cared for your students.”

With a sigh, she pushed away the papers she was grading and pushed the plate of biscuits towards him, “Have a seat, Regulus.”

He would rather not. In fact, he had forgotten how brash and uncultured Gryffindor were. The proper protocol would have her accepting his apology and them both moving on. The last thing he wanted was a conversation on feelings. Still, he respected the Scottish professor and so he sat.

“I may have expressed some concerns in hiring someone so steeped in the dark arts, but I recognize know you are not the same man who took the mark.” She pinned him with a hard stare, “And if I may say, I think you will do much better than Mr. Snape.”

He couldn’t stop the smirk. Severus would have undoubtedly bullied his students instead of teaching. The prodigies and tutored children would survive, but the struggling would be left behind. To be honest, he wasn’t sure who was worse: Slughorn or Snape. 

“I would like to know one thing,” she continued, pouring them a cup of tea. “What are your plans for the Slytherin House?”

That was unexpected. He took the offered tea and used it to think over his answer. Taking his audience, he went for brutal honesty, “The Slytherin House is selected for ambition, cunning, and resourcefulness. That has been twisted for a thirst of power, a desire of selfish gain.”

He sighed, setting down his cup. All the values of the Slytherin house had soured to flaws. Faults that cracked and destroyed the house from within, “My aim is to remind everyone that the house was meant more than the pureblood agenda it has been known of late.”

Satisfied, she put down her cup and settled into a more relaxed stance, “That is an admirable goal and will be difficult. Please feel free to call on me whatever you need.”

A grandfather clock chimed and Minerva blinked in surprise. Regulus stood and nodded, “I’ll let you finish your grading before dinner.”

“Nonsense,” she waved her wand and the papers slid into her desk neatly, “I’ll finish later. We can walk down together.”

And give everyone a double take as they did so. She was making a stance and offering solidarity to Regulus. In a way that was less humiliating than a public declaration of support. Taking the olive branch, and remembering this woman knew how to work with Slytherins, he held out his arm to escort her down. She did not hide her smirk as she took his arm. 

They barely made it into the hall when they were accosted by none other than William Weasley. He held the same starstruck wonder as he did at the party, but winced as Minerva asked what he needed.

“Well, my mates and me were just wondering, you see,” he glanced behind him at his friends and puffed out his chest, “Professor Black, could you teach us defense?”

“Excuse me?”

The young Gryffindor fidgeted, glanced at his Head of House who betrayed Regulus by encouraging him, “Well, you see, you fought in the war. And the new teacher, we think she’s a hag. Literally!”

Merlin, how was he supposed to deal with this? “I doubt the Ministry would employ a hag given their stance on anything non-human.”

“Well, then she’s a bloody awful teacher!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath, “Mister Weasley, I think you misunderstood my skill. I hardly think-”

“It would be a splendid idea for the first years to learn from someone of your experience, Professor Black.” Minerva had the gall to smile at him as she interrupted, “I daresay they would have had nothing like it. And as your duties are light for this term, surely you could wrangle a few first years in defense.”

And now there was no backing down. He pursed his lips and did his best not to show annoyance in front of the kids. It would earn him no favors if he lashed out on innocent questions. “I will see if there is a time outside classes to start a tutoring group for first year defense. I will only commit to this semester.”

His warnings fell on deaf ears. Weasley let out a whoop the moment he caved and chattered excitedly with his mates. Regulus had no doubt it would be the topic of conversation at dinner. What had he signed up for?

“That was good of you to agree. The students would have a lot to learn from you,” Minerva said, continuing their walk to the Great Hall. “While I would never speak ill of my colleagues, the new teacher could improve greatly.”

And the first years would be willing to learn from him. The upper years were too close to the war. This was the best test to see how far he would be able to reach not only those in his house, but the Light families as well. He sighed, “Why Dumbledore insists on keeping a clearly cursed position, I’ll never fathom.”

“We have to teach to the tests. Defense Against the Dark Arts is crucial in many professions and is the test that gains the most students.” They wound up to the staff table, ignoring the stares and whispers. Regulus gave her a nod as she indicated the seat next to her, disrupting Slughorn’s usual seat.

“You can teach the same materials in a different course. Even better, split it into two courses: Magical Defense and Magical Foundations.” He took the seat, a thrill running through him at speaking of the things that once held his attention as a student. So many plans of bright futures as a child. So many friends willing to map out a better future. But like the candles dotting the ceiling, they had been snuffed out, one by one. 

“Magical Foundations?” Minerva asked, breaking his brief interlude into the past. 

“A course designed to teach the different magical signatures people can have, teaching where magic originates, foundational information for those who do not live in the magical world. We designate them Light and Dark, good and evil, but the truth is we are born with magic inside us. We cannot help which way we sway. Light, Dark, Grey, they are merely indicators of which topics, spells, charms will come easier to us.” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Slughorn watching agape. Filius was curious and Pomona had a frown. He continued on, unsure when he would have another chance.

“The current curriculum divides the students, forces those different to either reject part of themselves or mold into that which is feared. It causes wars. And I think, we are all tired of those.”

Silence met his statement, heavy with grief and pain. 

“It would do well to think it over,” Minerva said quietly, unwilling to think more on such difficult topics. 

“Well said, Minerva.”

Regulus turned and met the unnatural blue of Dumbledore’s gaze, keeping his shields up as something brushed over his mind. He kept his face neutral and his stance relaxed. The headmaster did not scare him anymore than his grandfather. At least this old coot would have second thoughts on killing him in anger.

Conversation turned to lighter topics, filling the space between them, warming the air and finding normalcy. Even so, curiosity met his gaze instead of suspicion, hope dared to peek through the shadows. Regulus began to believe they could prevent another war should the worst happen with the horcruxes. If Tom Riddle rose again, perhaps a united school, a united community would meet him.

In the meantime, Regulus Black had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is obviously not the end for this AU. I knew when I wrote it I'd have to split up the plotlines. There's a bit of a time skip for the next part. Good news! I already have the second half half-written. As a teaser, I'll post the first chapter soon. Thank you to my lovely reviewers and fans!

**Author's Note:**

> This was based off a prompt of Regulus being potion master instead of Snape and well, here we are. There will be some canon changes as we go along. Hope you enjoy this story! Tell me your fav Regulus headcanons!


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